The Last Dragonborn
by Gothic-Diamond
Summary: A dark elf with no memory of his past wakes in prison cell alongside other ey are soon let out by soldier, but there are they going? Their execution. However, destiny has a way of making a mockery of the machinations of men and writing its own story instead.
1. Awakening

**The Last Dragonborn**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Awakening**

* * *

 **AN: The first important piece of information to note before reading this is that after having played the other Elder Scrolls games, Skyrim began to look like something of a disappointment. I still love the game, its just that it doesn't fit into the lore of the other games. So what I'm going to do is use Zaric Zhakaron's youtube videos What If Skyrim Was Good Parts 1-4. Go watch those videos if you have the time, they're pretty good... but a bit lengthy. The first one is 31:50, the second one is 45:37, the third one is 15:44, and the last one is 23:13.**

* * *

Darkness, that was all he knew, it was all he remembered. It encompassed all, any sights or sounds there might have been were shrouded by the all encompassing dark. There was nothing else, no memory or sense of time.

 _'Am I... dead'_ came the thoughts that resounded in the void, _'no, I don't think so... but how would I be able to tell the_ _difference?'_

But then came confusion, a sensation he couldn't ever remember feeling before, but he couldn't remember anything else either so perhaps that was a moot point.

 _'But then, who am I?'_ were the thought that came next, _'do I have a name? A family? Am I a hero, a law abiding citizen or a criminal?'_ All these questions and more regarding his own identity, where he was, and how he got there.

But wait... was that sound? It was a light tinkling of metal to the side of himself, accompanied by a quiet murmuring "I've almost got them off."

A thought occurred, he wanted to see what was making the sounds, and with a bit of effort he opened his eyes, only to see a grimy stone floor through dizzy eyes. He shut them again and groaned in discomfort at the piercing pain in his skull before opening his eyes more slowly.

At first he couldn't see anything through the haze, but after his vision had cleared he looked up to see a blond... human, a Nord (though he didn't quite know how he knew that) looking at him in concern, and upon looking around he saw a frightened, dirty looking man, also a Nord, and several other Nords.

All of them were dressed in rags with their hands bound in iron manacles behind their backs with the sole exceptions being the blond and the dirty one.

Looking around further, he could see that they were all in a jail cell.

The blond stood and walked over to stand before him, to allow another Nord, a woman this time, to have her manacles tended by the dirty man, who by now he guessed was some form of thief.

"Hey," he said, drawing his attention away from the scene and onto himself "I'm Ralof" he introduced himself, extending an arm before remembering that the Elf's hands were still bound and rubbed his neck. "You were unlucky to be caught up in this mess, friend" the man said, .

"Where are you from?" Ralof asked when he didn't reply. He lowered his head and thought... but after a moment, could only shake his head as nothing came to him. He knew a few things, such as the fact that his fellow prisoners were all Nords, and that his grey-black skin identified him as a Dunmer.

"I don't know," he looked up at the blond man "I can't remember(1)." He said after a moment of silence, trying to think up a suitable lie before relenting and excepting his lack of memories as his lot in life.

Ralof hummed thought as he leaned back, not sure whether he believed the Dark Elf before him.

The Dunmer before him was fairly tall, standing only an inch or two lower than the average High Elf. His eyes were fairly standard for his race, bloody red orbs surrounded by pools of deep black. His skin was a dark grey, almost black in color, though though it seemed to lack any form of body or facial hair. His hair was long and slightly wavy, the ends falling to his mid-back and just below his collarbones, and was a snowy white, same with his aristocratically arched eyebrows and long, feminine eyelashes. Lastly, his ears were swept back in an even line with his eyes, long and tapered to a fine point, very different to the higher and shorter ears common among his kind(2).

He looked to Ralof like some pretty-boy bard or noble, though he did bear a decent musculature on his thin body and some scars on his arms and face that looked like he had gotten them on some form of battlefield. Was he an adventurer of some kind, or if he was a noble then maybe he earned a title in the Great War... it was difficult to determine an Elf's age by looking at them.

"Wait!" they heard the thief say in a hushed voice, "the guards are coming." He, Ralof and the woman he had been working on earlier put their hands behind their back and pretended they were still bound.

Rounding the corner behind the bars were three men, two in leather armor with red cloth underneath, but the one trailing behind them caught his attention the most.

He was shirtless, revealing his fair pale skin and well muscled, if heavily scarred, torso. His face was covered by an eyeless iron helmet that looked to have been locked shut from behind, and was also welded to a pole that ran the length of his shoulder that his arms were chained to.

"What's with the mask?" the thief asked, having never seen nor heard of a single prisoner handled with this much caution before.

The woman whose hands he had just freed apparently thought his remark was born out of disrespect or sarcasm, because she reprimanded him, but in low tones to avoid a reprimand from their guards "that's Ulfric Stormcloak your talking about, show some respect!"

"Jarl Ulfric, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion?"

Ralof chose this time to speak, and proudly declared "the True High King of Skyrim, and heir to the Empire of Tamriel!"

He reconsidered the man in the iron mask. The amount of caution they were handling him with may have been a political move, or perhaps the man represented a serious threat and was being handled with deserved caution.

The thief had a blank look on his face as he considered his words. "But he's not an Imperial..." he stated awkwardly.

"Not that empire" Ralof started before another prisoner spoke up "they say that Jarl Ulfric's got the dragon blood running through his veins!"

"I though the Septim ended after Martin sacrificed himself" the thief said, but then another prisoner with some grey in his hair interjected with "that's Uriel Septim's line, boy! Old Tiber Septim used to be Talos of Atmorra, our Jarl's from that line."

The man in question must have slowed his walk to listen to their conversation, because it wasn't until this moment that he left his line of sight.

He furrowed his brow in thought as he considered this information. So these men were Stormcloaks, they and their leader Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak were rebelling against the empire of Tamriel... which he apparently had a right to the throne...

But then there already must have been an Emperor, so then Ulfric was from a branch family...

He shook his head, all this information was heavy, he'd think about it later.

His face snapped to the hallway outside the prison cell again when he heard footsteps. Four armored men came to stand in front of their cell. On your feet prisoners!" The one in front called, opening the door. One by one, they stood and followed their captors in a single file line at spearpoint by their captors.

By now, several of them were free of their manacles, himself not included, but were still wearing them to give the illusion of being bound, and their captors seemed to busy to notice.

They walked for what seemed to be several minutes until they exited the fort they were imprisoned in into a courtyard with a raised platform at one end with a chipping block, two soldiers and a hooded executioner.

The officers, one female and one male, were both wearing the standard uniform he had come to expect, with the exception of being more ornamental to denote being higher in rank. Their uniforms included steel plate armor, a dragon symbol on their belts, heavier shields, more ornamental swords, steel helmets with a bigger crest and maroon capes with fur lining.

Though the male had his helmet and shield on a table to the side of him, revealing his shoulder length chestnut hair, and had a clipboard and a quill.

As the prisoners were ushered onto the raised platform, the officer with the list pointed to him with his quill and said "you there, hold" he stopped moving forward, making a bit of distance between himself and the thief, who was just ahead of him.

The Nord walked over to the Dunmer prisoner and examined him. This was a military execution, and anyone not on the list for such would have been a problem.

Hadvar was the right hand man to General Tullius in Skyrim, and was thus overseeing this event. It was his job to smooth the relations between the Imperials and the locals, and executing an innocent would only worsen things on their end.

But even so, Morrowind no longer had any political weight now that their Great Houses were in ashes, and the Dunmer of Skyrim were siding with the rebels.

"Forget the list," the woman at Hadvar's side said "he goes to the block."

Hadvar scoffed, but having no reason to do otherwise, backed off and waved the Dark Elf forward.

"Wait, Hadvar! That Dunmer isn't a part of the Sormcloaks!" Ralof shouted, rejecting his old friends decision to execute him anyway regardless of what the list said.

"Indeed" the soldier sarcastically, not quite believing the elf, "then perhaps you are to be taken back to Solitude for questioning."

He smiled at Ralof for trying to save him, even if it didn't work out. The captain grabbed hold of his shoulder and marched him directly to the block, and putting her foot on his back, pushed him face first onto it.

He shifted his head to the side to alleviate some of the discomfort at having his face slammed into a stone block. He'd have thought that they'd want to execute Ulfric sooner rather than later if he was truly as important as the others said he was. That's what all this fanfare was about after all.

 _'This is it'_ he thought as the headsman raised his ax. _'It wasn't a long life, and I guess my only regret is the memory thing.'_

His stomach made a slight gurgling sound _'I'm hungry, maybe a last meal would've been nice.'_

He opened his eyes again for what he thought would be the last time, but then he felt the ground shake and the raised platform groan under the stress. He found his eyes drawn drawn toward a massive creature looking straight at him from atop the tower adjacent to his position.

It was a red-orange, two massive grey bony wings sticking out from it's side, grey bony spikes sticking out from its neck, back and tail, its head crowned by two large grey horns, and last were a pair of intense yellow eyes staring directly into his soul(5).

"What in Oblivion is that?" someone said, but he couldn't tell who it was as his heart began to race within his chest.

"Dragon!" Someone screams, and the now identified dragon opened its mouth, and with three spoken words released a torrent of energy sent directly at him, but hit the executioner who stood in between them, sending both him and his axe flying like a ragdoll.

* * *

(1) My favorite male voice actor is Robin Atkin Downes, but since he already has a role in Skyrim, I'm going with Liam O'Brian. The guy has a few different voices for his many roles, but the one I'm going with for Enakam is going to to be Caius Ballad from Final Fantasy XIII-2 and Lightning Returns.

(2) When playing Elder Scrolls Online, I got this appearance, more or less, when messing around with the sliders. I also took some artistic creativity with the hair and ears.

(3) I've decided to change the designs for the Imperial armor for my story. Take a look at the Imperial Armor concept art on the Imperial Armor wiki page.

(4) Akatosh isn't present in the Nordic pantheon, rather the northern barbarians worship his firstborn Akatosh.

(5) Yes, this is an Ancient dragon, not Alduin, he will be introduced later. Ancient dragons are the most powerful dragons in the base game, but not with the expansions. I wanted to display the difficulty normal soldiers have with dragons, but I didn't want to go too powerful or too weak.

This is the shortest chapter that I plan to write for this story.


	2. Unbound

**The Last Dragonborn**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Unbound**

* * *

"Don't just stand there, kill that thing!" he heard someone shout over the panic caused by the dragon's appearance and over his own racing heart. "Guards, get the townspeople to safety!" someone yelled before he was sent flying by another wave of energy and went crashing into a building, collapsing it atop him. He shook his head furiously, with that he shook himself out of his funk and stood up.

Looking around, he didn't see anyone standing. Ralof and the others must have all run off in the chaos. He saw a tower with an open door not too far away, so he ran that way. A blast of dragonfire hit the ground not too far behind him as he ran through the doorway, so he rolled to the side to duck out of the way.

Sighing in relief as he felt some of the heat die down, he stood and looked around at his new surroundings. He saw the Imperial captain, though she seemed to be wounded by debris, and Hadvar there along with Ralof and the others, and Ulfric as well who was still in chains.

"You, get an ax and get these off." Ralof told him, pointing to Ulfric, "are you crazy?" Hadvar rejected, "we need to get out of here now. Follow me if you want to survive this mess," he then pulled the wounded Imperial's arm over his shoulder and helped her through the door into the lower tunnels.

Taking up an ax from the weapons rack, Ralof broke his bonds before giving the ax to him. He gently put a hand on Ulfric's shoulder to steady himself.

The elder Stormcloak grabbed his shirt and tugged "I'm warning you-" he said, pointing a finger in between his eyes "if you miss..." the threat was purposefully left open-ended.

The young woman put her hand on her father's arm and shook her head. She knew what Ralof was doing, he was giving this Dark Elf a test, to see if he would join them or follow Hadvar into the tunnels.

He took a slow, strong swing at the chains and surprisingly he hit them, but unsurprisingly he didn't break them.

Gritting his teeth in concentration, he swung again. This time, the chains broke.

Ulfric, now free of the chains, stood up to his full height, about even with himself (1), and took off his mask and gag to reveal a handsome face with blue eyes, and long white-blond hair.

He was distracted by the door to the tunnels slamming shut, but his attention was drawn back to Ulric who put a hand on his shoulder "thank you brother, you did a great service to me this day."

Hearing the deep, booming voice of Ulfric Sormcloak, he could only not as he watch the man take up a sword and shield from the rack and run outside to face down the dragon.

He grabbed a sword from the rack and turned to offer him assistance, the dragon destroyed a wall which then fell to separate themselves from Ulfric.

They could still see through it, but they couldn't get through to help him.

 **"FUS-"** Ulfric started, his voice somehow echoing with power, **"_RO DAH!"**

What billowed forth was a burst of intense energy that slammed into the dragon and sent it into the tower, sending both it and the rubble of the now collapsed walls to fall to the ground.

Ulfric was already running toward the falling beast after his Shout, and when the dragon slammed against the ground with earth shattering force, he was already upon its throat, not allowing it a chance to retaliate as he plunged his sword to the hilt into the dragon's vulnerable underside.

The dragon let out a muted roar and tried to roll over, attempting to bring the human straddling its neck with it into death. Ulfric let go of the sword and jumped off the dragon, landing in a roll as his legs were too weak from the torture to land on his feet. Really, he was thankful that this ended when it did, as he doubted he would have lasted in an elongated battle in the state he was in.

"That-" Ralof started, smirking amusedly at the awed Dark Elf at his side, "is Ulfric Stormcloak. They call him the Dragonborn(2).

The Last son of Talos."

The Dark Elf was staring through the partition as Ulfric walked away, back straight and chin high even though it was evident that the man was weighed down with enormous amounts of pain and exhaustion.

"Come on, let's go." Ralof said, the moment having passed, "but what about him?"

"Stormcloak soldiers are everywhere in Skyrim, he'll be alright."

Looking back one last time at the man vanishing into the distance, he turned and followed Ralof back into the fort.

* * *

He sighed as he went in the doors to the keep, his heart finally calming down from the chaos of the day. Immediately, they saw the corpse of a man that Ralof recognized.

Ralof knelt next to him and said a prayer, before he held the man's hand and said "we'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother."

"This rebellion..." he said, interrupting Ralof, "what is it for?"

This time it was the elder Stormcloak who spoke "because the Empire has betrayed us."

"We should keep moving" the female officer said, silencing them, though he was not saying much of anything at the moment... he didn't talk much. At least, he didn't think so, as talking didn't come naturally to him, so maybe he should just say things that needed to be said, or when he actually had something to say (3).

They talked more as they walked, about how the Imperials were attempting to strip Skyrim of Nordic values in favor of Imperial ones.

Evidently, there was a war twenty-six years ago that involved all of Tamriel, called the Great War. It started when the reformed Aldmeri Dominion invaded the Imperial provinces of Hammerfell and Cyrodiil. The war lasted only four years, but at the cost of a great many lives. The only ones spared the savagery were the provinces of Morrowind and Black Marsh, both of which have been lost to the Empire after the Oblivion Crisis, even if the former was the Empire's fault in the first place.

The Empire's nobility had adamantly refused to aid the Dunmer, as they were known for their open worship of Daedra instead of the Imperial pantheon. Even though the Dunmer had successfully driven back the Daedra invaders until the gates closed, their true downfall came later when the Argonians invaded Morrowind to avenge the enslavement of the Argonian people.

Morrowind's capital city of Mournhold was able to halt the advance of the Argonians, but the war left thousands dead and the four great houses of Morrowind in ashes, forcing many dunmer to scatter across Tamriel.

Those that had fled to the north, to Skyrim, found acceptance in the city of Winterhold, seat of the Stormcloak rebellion.

The Stormcloaks, similarly betrayed by the Empire, and seeing an opportunity for future alliance against the Aldmeri Dominion, opened their doors to the Dark Elf refugees.

It was a tenuous alliance at first, but over time with plenty of peacekeeping on Ulfric's part, the Nords grew to accept their new allies.

But none of that was what the civil war was truly about. The White-Gold Concordat, the document that ended the Great War, outlawed the worship of Ysmir in Imperial provinces, including Skyrim.

Ysmir was the hero-god of mankind, emperor Tiber Septim in life, elevated to the ranks of the gods in death.

Ysmir was especially beloved in the provice of Skyrim, and so the White-Gold Concordat was the worst kind of betrayal.

In short, the civil war was a religious war, not a war about politics or borders.

"Wait!" The woman yelled in hushed tones when she spotted a chamber through to the side of the hallway' "look."

Entering the chamber, the four of them went looking for their gear. After a brief search Nords found their equipment, but there was nothing here that he recognized. It might be possible that he wasn't consciously recognizing anything, but he had hoped that there would be something here that he would subconsciously latch onto.

If only to give him a hint about his past.

The others however, didn't wast time changing into their steel armor, padded wool and pelts. The steel was heavily stylized and had a prominent bear theme, the wool was dark-brown, almost black, and the pelts seem to come from a bear. Similarly, the weapons were very decorative, looking almost more like cultural icons than practical weaponry(4), and he would've voiced his opinion on such if they didn't look so sturdy in their construction.

They took their gear from the vault, Ralof taking a one-handed battleaxe and a targe-shield, the young woman taking an arming sword and dagger pair, the elder a heavy two handed battleaxe with a longbow slung over his shoulder, and himself taking a two-handed saber.

"Hold" the elder Stormcloak said, gesturing toward the lattice separating this hallway from the chamber beyond, "Imperial soldiers."

Ralof, the elder, the young woman and himself, _'I really should learn their names'_ , readied their weapons.

Ralof pulled the connecting lever, and the gate lifted up and out of the way. That immediately alerted the out-of-breath Imperials, and Ralof yelled a battle cry and charged in.

The woman immediately killed the one who had Ralof stuck in a deadlock by beheading him from behind. The other soldier was more difficult, as his weapon was a halberd. When the elder went after him with his two-handed battleaxe, the Imperial ducked and weaved his lighter weapon passed the Stormcloak's guard and very nearly stabbed his foe in his side.

He rushed in to help his comrade, and using the curvature of his blade to maneuver passed his poleaxe and ran him through. Dropping his halberd at the pain of having a curved sword stab its way through his body, and the last thing he saw was the blade of the older Nord's weapon in its downward swing in between his eyes.

The Dunmer breathed in deep to calm his racing heart. Fighting like this seemed... instinctual, like something he already knew how to do but could no longer remember ever doing. The latter was easily explained away by his amnesia, but it left him wondering all the same.

"Here we are-" Ralof said, checking the body's pouches, "-found a key, maybe it fits that door."Ralof opened the door at the far end of the chamber with the looted key. "Alright, let's go!"

Before he could move to follow the blonde, the female waltzed up behind him and clapped him on the soldier "you handle yourself pretty well, good work" she congratulated him, but he just looked down at his foe's corpse, head cleaved in two down the center of his face, and brooded.

"Alright, it's open. Come on" The blonde said when he got the next lattice open, but yelped and backed away when an Imperial soldier, an archer, sprang from behind the corner. The four of them had already put away their weapons at this point, and could not prepare themselves fast enough before the soldier could get shoot her arrow.

Widening his eyes when he felt a well of energy rise up in his belly, allowing it to travel up his body and into his arm and out through his fingers.

An intense bold of violet colored lightning erupted from his fingertips, incinerating the arrow that the archer had only just let go of, snapping the bow in two, and sanding the soldier slamming into the wall(5).

The soldier lay there in a crumpled heap, her body twitching as the electricity caused her muscles to spasm, but did not move otherwise.

Withdrawing his hand and looking at it in curiosity, his mind heavy with ponderings about who he was before he lost his memories, and about what could have caused him to lose them.

His Nord companions, on the other hand, were looking at their Elven ally in shock, but not in surprise. They were not surprised because he was a Dunmer, and Dunmer were among the best Spellswords in Tamriel, so it only made sense from a certain perspective, and the Dark Elven refugees made up almost the entire magical branch of the Stormcloak military (though that gap was lessening with time, as apprentices were accepted from the Nords of Winterhold).

It wasn't a racist assumption, not truly. They've seen far more Dunmer Mages than Fighters or Rogues, so it was expected at this point.

There was also his body type to consider. He was very tall, but not terribly beefy. His muscles looked strong enough to be decent with swordsmanship or hand-to hand combat, but not strong enough to block a strong blow with a shield. So therefore he needed to to have a means of ranged attack that he could use with only his free hand, and that was where offensive spells came into the picture.

But exactly how proficient was he with magic? That was not for them, or even for him if his having amnesia was the truth, to say for certain.

Nonetheless, they needed to keep moving. Someone will have heard that skirmish.

The woman gently prodded him forward and he wordlessly followed them through the halls. The elder guiding their way down to a secret exit, evidently he had been stationed here during his time as a legionnaire. He would've voice his opinion about the convenience of it, but... he couldn't quite remember the figure of speech he was looking for, something about a horse.

The halted when they came upon another door, and opening it slowly and quietly to not alert whoever might be on the other side.

He sighed, he was going to have to use his bloody craft again. Weapons drawn, they burst through the door. Not two, but three soldiers awaited them, two using a sword and shield combo, and one with a spear. But their armor... it was unadorned leather, meaning these three were grunts. He had to question why these three where together, and by themselves no less.

Any tactician worth his salt would know to put a more experienced fighter in a squad with green recruits like these. These three were likely on patrol duty, and sneaked into the storeroom to steal a quick snack, and did not foresee the need to use a proper fighting formation.

The three of them took the fight to them, Ralof and the woman working together again while the elder charged in on his own, leaving him to his own devices.

He was really beginning to feel like something of an extra party here, and it was not a pleasant feeling. Part of him thought he should just break through the lines and go on ahead alone and let these two do their thing, but the logical side of himself told him that he'd just get himself killed that way.

Ralof dodged his opponents blade and blocked a poorly executed shield-bash, the woman taking advantage of the soldier's overextended state and beheaded him from behind.

The elf meanwhile, was fighting solo against the second sword-and-shield user. The blade of the soldier's sword made a go for his exposed neck, he ducked under it and stabbed out with his curved blade, the soldier blocked his stab but sacrificed a good chunk of wood from his shield for his effort. He tried to shield-bash his opponent's hand and knock the sword away and break the hand, and at the same time he stabbed at the Elf's torso.

He let go of his sword and brought back and withdrew his hand, but of course his sword was sent flying to the far wall, and he bent over backwards to avoid the stab, leaving his legs vulnerable to the sweeping kick that followed.

Meanwhile, the elder charged the lone spear wielder with a battle-cry, and it was all his clearly intimidated opponent could do to stand his ground. he knew he retreating would be the smart thing to do, maybe call for reinforcements. He was interrupted from his thoughts when he saw the blade of his opponent's axe heading for him in a downward swing, forcing him to block with the shaft of his spear. But the recruit was unprepared for the kick to his abdomen that followed.

The panicking recruit just barely managed to hold on to his spear, his mind trying to come up with a plan, but came up blank. The next thing he noticed was that his opponent's battleax was occupying the space between his neck and shoulder.

The last remaining soldier, seeing that his friends had fallen, released a war cry and rushed at the Dunmer in a blind rage, but was thrown back into the wall by another bolt of lightning.

The Elf looked down thoughtfully, all this killing felt a bit wrong to him, but as he was quickly finding, he greatly enjoyed the act of violence itself. He looked around to see the room they were now in, a storeroom of sorts, going off of all the food, alchemical ingredients and potions.

"A storeroom." Ralof said, "See if you can find any potions"

The Elf looked on silently as his allies went riffling through barrels and chests, taking all manner of ingredients, potions and gold coins. He calmly walked over to a table nearby and picked up a satchel. Opening it and seeing that it had sufficient supplies, he tied it to his belt.

That done, he walked toward the far door to wait for his allies of circumstance. He cracked open the door and peered out, there was no one there. For the moment.

The elder on the other hand, had knelt down next to one of the bodies and had removed the helmet, and was shock to see not a man, but a boy of only seventeen. "So young" he said, closing his eyes and offering a short prayer.

The woman rubbed her father's back comfortingly, knowing how much he hated to see such young people forced to pick up a sword.

"Take everything important, and then we leave. Imperial reinforcements will be here soon" he said in his quiet but strong voice, and the others finished up with their looting and left the bodies behind.

This turned out to be a much shorter corridor, and the next chamber larger than the last, however this particular chamber housed something that proved to be a source of anger for his allies.

A torture chamber.

Complete with cell lined walls, cages suspended on the floor with chains, a fireplace lined with iron bars... and a pair of chains hanging from the ceiling with hooks at the end that looked like they attached to a bar, with a puddle of blood just underneath.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that that's where they've been 'entertaining' the Stormcloak leader.

More pressing at the moment though, were the people being 'attended to by the torturers. There were two male Nords and a female Breton, all in various states of undress as the Imperials used their cruel tools (or in the Breton's case, a more fleshy tool was being used) on them.

In a fit of rage, his Nord allies charged in to the room, himself not far behind them. Shocked, the three imperials turned to them, but their prisoners took advandage of their distraction to ambush them from behind.

One Nord, a brunet, took his tormentors torture device, something that was halfway between a corkscrew and a knife, and plunged it into the man's throat. The other Nord, a redhead, ripped his hands out of his loosened manacles and strangled his tormentor. The Breton however, had her neck and hands locked in a stock, and as such was unable to fight back against her tormentor/rapist.

Cur Ralof wildly chopping the man to pieces in a bloody rage.

His allies, aside from Ralof, who was still in the process of hacking the screaming Imperial to bloody bits, went to talk to the prisoners. The female Nord, thinking it would be better if she was the one who aided the Breton given what they walked in on, broke the stock open and comforted the crying woman.

The Dunmer, standing in the middle of the room awkwardly, took off his shirt (really, it was just a burlap sack with holes cut into it for his arms and head) and threw it to the women when he saw that there were no female garments in this room. Likely, after the torturers were through with their captives they planned on taking them back to their cages as they were. Besides, as tall as he was, it would be a short dress for the significantly shorter Breton.

Catching the garment, the woman offered it to the Breton, who hurriedly threw it on to hide her shame.

Knowing that the humans needed a moment, the topless Elf hurried away into the next part of the fort to scout ahead. He felt... uncomfortable, those people knew each-other, fought together, drank and ate together... they needed to be with each-other now he... he was not wanted or needed back there.

One, the one place he felt he was needed right now, was ahead. He needed to fight, kill and clear their way. Those three, especially so for the Breton, did not need to see anymore violence... not today.

He marched forward through the hallway like a man on a mission, sword drawn in his right hand, his left crackling with electricity, and steel in his eyes. He stopped only momentarily to pull the lever and drop the next bridge, but was quickly moving again through the corridor and into the next chamber.

Four more imperials were there, these ones had steel ornaments on their armor, steel helmets, and mail on their shoulders, so he guesses that they were somewhat higher ranked than the last three, but less so than Hadvar or that captain. In order of closest to furthest away from him was a sword and kite-shield wielder, a halberdier, aspear and targe-shield user and an archer.

Their formation was tactically sound, if he didn't know better he would say they were waiting for him.

He made the first move, and without preamble he sent a bolt of lightning toward the archer who narrowly dodged and loosed an arrow, but the moment he took to loos the arrow only made him vulnerable to the next bolt.

Easily dodging the arrow, he marched forward now that he didn't have the archer to worry about. The soldier with the sword-and-shield charged in first with the other two remaining behind.

Again, he questioned the convenience of his situation. The Imperials would've stood a chance at killing him if they charged in together and covered each-others weak points, but one-on-one? He shook his head, almost disappointed.

He quickly dispatched his first foe, a bolt of lightning making his shield-arm all-but useless. With only his shortsword to defend himself, the soldier quickly fell under the onslaught of superior swordplay from the Dunmer.

He had to ask himself why and how he was showing so much skill without any memory. The why could only be guessed at, but the how couldn't be explained. His only working theory at the moment was muscle-memory.

The two pole-arm users evidently learned their lesson and charge him at once. The Dunmer grabbed the fallen shield off of the ground and used it to block the halberd while dodging a stab of the second soldier's spear, he twisted the shield to the side to get the blade stuck in the wooden face. The blade stuck, he brought the conjoined weapons down onto the spear before it could be pulled back.

It failed to make the soldier let go of the spear, but that was a merely done to distraction them both from his sword, which a second later took the halberdier's head. Dropping the shield, he walked slowly, mockingly, toward the shaking Imperial.

The Imperial gulped, looking on at his opponent. The beautiful Dunmer's tall and thin frame, the angular and otherworldly face set with those terrifying yet alluring red and black eyes and crowned by that long snowy hair with the oddly shaped ears sticking out like branches on a snow-covered tree, the heavily muscled and lightly scarred torso was splattered with blood, the long arms ending in those gracefully shaped hands with the long, ornate curved sword clutched in the right, the long legs covered only by the thin, torn pants, and finally those graceful feet.

The Imperial shook the amorous thoughts from his head and charged forward despite the danger, a cry escaping his lips. His spear was easily caught and knocked away, his shield held tight in the Dunmer's iron grip, and his sword, free of obstruction, made a stab for the Imperial's chest.

The Imperial left for the afterlife with a smile on his face, contented by the fact that he at least went out with a raging boner.

Extricating his sword from the soldier's chest and swinging it through the air to free it of blood, the Dunmer stood in the center of the room, brooding. He didn't know whether to continue onward or go back and check on the others. They had all suffered severe trauma throughout the day, being thrown mercilessly into a dirty, crowded prison cell, tortured and raped...

At the very least he should find some new clothing. He didn't think that poor woman would want to see a male in any state of undress anytime soon...

His left ear twitched when he heard the tell-tail hiss of an arrow flying through the air. He leaned his head to the right and narrowly dodged the arrow that passed by. His left arm shot up like a snake, and he caught the arrow.

He turned slowly, almost mockingly, to see another imperial soldier in the doorway to the exit. She was wearing the exact same armor as the captain from earlier, meaning she must be one of the legion's elites. However, the sole difference between her and the captain, and the only indication of her fighting style which looked like it might be much more difficult to overcome than the ones he fought so far.

There was no shield to be found on her, instead were the pair of ornamental swords on her belt and a longer sword on her back.

She interrupted his thought process by firing another arrow.

He decided to psyche her out a little bit more by catching her arrow in the in the same hand that still held the first, and breaking them both with his middle finger.

The officer merely stared blankly at him and dropped her bow, unfastened the bandoleer holding the quiver to her back and drew her swords.

The second the noise of her quiver and bandoleer hitting the floor was heard, she made her charge.

His eyes widened, _'she's fast!'_

Much faster than the others despite her heavier armor, she cleared the space between them, swinging her shortswords toward his neck in a scissor motion. Taller and more muscular than her, he was able to swing his linger, heavier sword in a speed that rivaled if not exceeded her own, and their swords clashing against each-other.

Smiling, she kicked his abdomen, sending him back on his a step while created some distance and threw some throwing darts at him. Eyes widening and unable to dodge the scattering of darts, he threw his left hand out and focused his energy, hoping he knew a spell for defense.

A transparent silvery ward came to life in front of him, slowing the darts to a stop. He cancelled the spell, and the useless bits of wood and metal fell to the floor. He followed by shooting arcs of lightning at her, but like him she simply created a ward and blocked it.

He dropped the spell, magic would not work in this fight. He only knew the how to shoot lightning and conjure a ward, but he didn't know what she could do, so it was better to just use swords from here on out.

He punctuated his thoughts by lowering his hand and raising his sword into a guard.

This did not deter her, if anything her smirk grew into a faint smile as her excitement grew.

She rushed forward again, as did he. They met in the middle and clashed swords in swings so fast the blades seemed to leave an almost opaque trail in the air behind them.

She swung high, he ducked and swung low. She swung to the side, and he span away and swung to the center. Something metal flew away from the black and silver blur in the center of the room, and when it clanged on the ground, they finally parted.

It was her helmet.

He looked upon his opponent clearly for the first time.

She was tall, 5'7 with pale peach-colored skin, rose red hair and clear green eyes.

"I figured you would come through here." She said, her voice feminine yet somewhat masculine, the exact opposite of his own.

"You heard that some prisoners escaped in the chaos of the dragon attack, and figured that we'd take the back exit. Am I right?"

She flipped her left-hand sword into a reverse grip and said "exactly."

The talking over with, she dropped into a stance.

Legs spread wide with her knees bent at right angles, she held her left hand before her chest with her wrist bent upwards, and her right hand behind her holding the shortsword in an even line with her forearm.

He grinned and got into a stance of his own, one that was instinctual to him even in his state of amnesia, and markedly different than hers.

His legs were bent only slightly so that they looked straight, his left hand held held in front of his chest as if he were holding a shield, and his sword arm seemingly relaxed at his sight with the blade in line with his right shin.

An ordinary opponent would look at his stance and think he was mocking them, as he was seemingly leaving himself open to attack. But in reality every muscle in his body was tightly coiled and ready to spring into action, his left hand cradling a spell just waiting to be cast, and his sword arm loose and ready to swing.

His opponent was no ordinary woman, and was not fooled by his seemingly relaxed posture. She twisted her forward foot and charged, albeit cautiously.

There was a trick to dual wielding. For a warrior to wield two long weapons wasn't a feasible strategy. A warrior who wished to dual-wield was best off with a one-handed sword and a dagger. In the hands of a skilled user, the long and short weapons would work together with amazing synergy, where long blades would only get tangled with each-other mid swing.

But this woman seemed to find the middle-ground for dual wielding, her two shortswords didn't give each-other that same synergy as a sword and dagger,but weren't as difficult to use in tandem as two long blades. A shortsword had more versatility than a sword, but more range than a dagger, and his opponent was using that fact to maximum effect.

A short blade came in too close for comfort to his neck, but not close enough to dig into it. It was both a feint and a test, she was trying to see if e could see through her trick. He didn't flinch away, and blocked the true attack, a stab meant for his heart, with the flat of his blade.

He pushed her off of him with his blade while at the same time sending his foot out to hook her ankle. Going with the momentum of his push, she jumped over his foot and back-flipped into a standing position.

She smirked at him mockingly and started humming, signalling that this fight had become something of a dance between them. Rather than be incensed and goaded by her attitude, he smirked back, winked at her and started humming in tune.

The two were of one mind, this fight ceased to be one of an Imperial and a Stormcloak. They were a man and a woman, dancing together in a ruined keep, and if one of them so happened to die when it was over... so be it.

Their humming stopped as they charged each other again, swinging their blades at one another wildly, each not wanting to end the fight too soon. Their hearts were racing, their bodies were sweating and bleeding as the number of small, shallow cuts began to grow.

The air was alive with the clashing of steel as they blocked, dodged, and parried each-other, all to fast for the untrained eye to see. It must have been quite beautiful to watch, like poetry in motion.

The fighting had reached its crescendo it seemed, when their blades found themselves locked together. Neither of them moved from that spot for a moment, as they simply stared at one another with respect shining in their eyes.

"My name is Fura, Fura Morrad."

"My name is-" he paused, _'it was that easy?'_ all he had to do was introduce himself and his name came to him? Just like that?

He felt, he didn't know... cheated, somehow.

"My name is Enakam."

She nodded to him and backed away, unbinding their weapons. He was shocked when she flipped her weapons into a reverse grip and sheathed them in a fluid motion. He furrowed his brow in understanding though, as she lifted her hand to the sword-hilt over her shoulder.

She clasped the hilt of the sword and drew it slowly from the polished wood, and when it was halfway out, she swung it out. The scabbard went all the way up to the guard on one side, but on the other it only went halfway, this was because it was almost impossible to draw swords from the back.

The bastard sword had a straight blade with a diamond cross-section, a spear-point tip, and a straight cross-guard that widened on both ends into a somewhat bell-shape, same with the pommel. The sword looked to be made of... silver? Silver was not a strong metal, so it was obviously enchanted... but how powerful were the enchantments?

She dropped into another stance, drawing him from his observations, this stance was markedly different from her old one.

Her knees were only slightly bent, her legs spread wide, and her back straight. Her left arm was bent in front of her as if she were holding a shield, with the forearm horizontal to the ground, and her right arm was seemingly relaxed at her side, the elbow slightly bent, and the sword in a right-angle to her forearm.

He was stunned for a moment at how much her new stance resembled his own. His face drew into an expression of concentration to match her own, if he was right then this fight just got a lot more difficult.

He was distracted however, by footsteps in the hallway behind him. The others must have heard their fight and ran in to assist him. He turned back to Fura, but only saw a maroon blur as her cape dissapeared behind the corner of the far hall.

"Elf!" He heard Ralof say a moment after his opponent had dissapeared, and he turned to see the others spill into the room. They had found weapons and armor for their new comrades apparently, as they were all now wearing the bear uniform and were carrying weapons. What caught his eye for a moment was the Breton among them who happened to be carrying a one-handed saber (6) and dagger, unknowingly mirroring his thoughts from earlier.

When he looked at her though, he backed off warily. She was out of her depression over what had happened to her and was now in a murderous rage, as evidenced by the expression on her face, and her hands which were gripping her weapons hard enough that he saw blood dripping from them.

"We heard... we heard battle and thought..." Ralof started, but trailed off awkwardly seeing all the cuts on Enakam's body, and all the bodies and drew his own conclusions from there.

He debated whether or not to tell them about Fura, if only out of indignation at the thought that these wet-behind-the-ears boys could hurt him this badly... but in the end, he really had no reason to hide it from them, so he told them.

They're reactions were varied. The Nords were horrified that the woman had appeared in their path, and the Breton was furious.

"Fura" she said, gritting her teeth so hard he thought they'd break.

"Elsa..." the woman tried to comfort her, but the blonde Breton just stomped toward the exit. She sighed in disappointment and gave Enakam back his shirt.

Enakam, not wanting to deal with the unfolding drama, simply drank a potion and put on the shirt.

* * *

Ralof sighed when they came up against a dead end "that doesn't go anywhere."

They had walked ahead for several minutes without a word after Elsa had stormed off. After everything that happened today, torture, rape, a dragon attack and their subsequent escape... it left them all mentally exhausted.

They just wanted to find a bed and lie down.

They heard a scream of terror just up ahead and ran to check it out.

They turned the next corner to see Elsa hiding behind an rock. But before they could ask why she screamed, a gob of venom splattered against the wall next to Ralof, and when they looked for its source they saw a den of spiders.

The walls were covered in webbing that looked strong enough to ensnare several heavy men. The floor was thankfully free of webbing, but was covered in what he could only assume were small animals encased in cocoons of webbing. Shivering at the gruesome sight of the multi-legged fiends, he drew his sword in one hand and readied a spell in the other.

There were four spiders that stood three feet off the ground, and one that stood five.

Ralof, Enakam and the elder, the only ones with ranged attacks, started out the fight by killing the biggest spider with a combination of arrows and magic. That done, they rushed into the fray, blades drawn.

The ensuing fight was not one worthy of being recorded, as no great amount of swordplay or magic use was required to kill off the remaining spiders. Luckily, it turned out that aside from being able to spit venom at their target, their only weapons were their fangs and a stinger at the back of their abdomen.

Potions were required at the end of it, however, to cure the Nords Frostbite venom. But Enakam seemed to be immune to it for whatever reason, to a certain extent. After he was hit by a gob of venom, he felt its effects for a brief period, but then his body just... purged it.

The woman and her father went to comfort Elsa, but ended up having to drag the traumatized woman with them.

He looked at her as she was dragged by, it was kind of disconcerting how she kept muttering 'too many eyes' over and over.

They continued through the cave, and as they went it got brighter, which could only mean that an exit was nearby.

"Hold up" Ralof said, stopping suddenly,and he wanted to groan, but sucked it up and stopped. "There's a bear just ahead. See her?" He pointed to a darkened corner where he indeed see a large shape, "I'd rather not tangle with her right now-" he started to say, but was cut of when the elder charged it.

"Or not."

Waken from its nap by the Nord's yelling, the bear got up from the floor and readied itself to charge at them. Ralof cursed and drew his bow, shooting arrows at the bear, but it didn't look like they were slowing its charge any. Enakam just dropped to the floor, leaning against the cave wall.

Let the Nords handle the bear, he had done enough fighting.

Several minutes later, or at least it seemed like, Enakam looked over from his min-nap at the others as they finally managed to take down the bear.

He stood up on his feet and brushed the dirt off of his rear and walked off after them.

"This looks like the way out!" the redhead Nord yelled in relief when they finally saw the first traces of sunlight. "I was starting to wonder if we'd ever make it" Ralof said, running after him, following the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon enough, they came upon an opening in the rock, large enough for a bear to get through.

Following the excited humans, Enakam calmly exited the cave, breathing in fresh air for the first time in what felt like, and may very well have been, days.

Enakam opened his eyes and could only stare in wonder. It was beautiful, tall white mountains, a clean, blue partially frozen river down the path, sunlight shining off of the water and ice in a dazzling array of color. The dirt path in front of him surrounded by snow and lively, green grass and tall trees stubbornly clinging to life in the tundra.

What a wonderful world. He felt like singing.

"So, we're out..." he heard the Elsa speak clearly for the first time, making the female Nord grab her shoulders in a comforting gesture. "What now?"

"We go to Riverwood" Ralof said, "my sister runs the mill there. She'll takes us in, if only for a while." The blonde man started down the path as he continued talking "from there we can make our way to Whiterun and hire a carriage to take us to Windhelm."

The others voiced they're assent to the plan,and started off on the path toward Riverwood.

* * *

(1) Vladimir Kulich is 6'5".

(2) Ulfric is Dragonborn the same way the Setim dynasty were Dragonborn. He has the blood of a dragon, but not the soul. Without the combination of dragon's blood and the soul, he can't absorb dragon souls, and is therefore not a TRUE Dragonborn in the same manner that our hero is.

(3) I am an introverted person, I am being completely honest when I say that talking doesn't come naturally to me, it makes my jaws hurt, and I just don't do it unless I actually have something to say. Enakam will be the same way, as I honestly don't know how to write a chatterbox.

(4) I'm replacing the Stormcloak armor and weaponry in this story. In the vanilla game you had your foot-soldiers wearing guard uniforms, and your officers wearing leather armor and pelts (which is protective, but not to the standards of actual war). The nexus has a mod for that (go figure), Stormcloak Soldier Uniform by thordir. The first image, a blend of Nordic Carved Armor and Stormcloak Officer Armor is the only one I actually like though, so that will be the armor of the actual soldiers. In the same vein, the weaponry of the Stormcloaks are either Nordic Carved weapons, or vanilla steel weapons. Granted, of course, I'm going to be reshaping the weapons somewhat with LeanWolf's Better-Shaped Weapons by LeanWolf and masterofshadows.

(5) The mage animations from vanilla Skyrim never appealed to me, so instead I'm going to use the animations from YY Anim Replacer - Mystic Knight by yukl. Yes, the animations are very feminine, but as stated below the Dragonborn will be influenced by his three Daedric matrons. This will be Azura's influence, making him into a somewhat feminine character, fighting with grace and beauty.

(6) The one-handed saber is the Nordic Sword, and Enakam's two-handed saber is the same thing, only bigger. Yes, there are one-handed and two-handed sabers, the one-handed variety are just more common. Some notable examples of two-handed sabers are the German Kriegsmesser and the Japanese Katana.

I know several of you are reading this and are wondering 'why is this guy using mods for a story?' or something along those lines. Well the answer is that the mods are nothing more than a point of reference, so when I mentioned certain things that are not in the vanilla game, you'd know what I'm talking about. And before you write a condescending review, I also know that some of you have figured this out on your own, the point of this AN is just to clarify for those of you who didn't.


	3. Before the Storm

**The Last Dragonborn**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Before the Storm**

* * *

 **AN: It has been pointed out to me that all the numbered references are merely an annoyance and a distraction from the story. So the references are going to stay, there's not going to be anymore distracting tags, everything will be in the end notes. Tell me what you think in the review section so that I can improve as a writer.**

* * *

The seven companions walked down the road that would take them to the town of Riverwood. They made small talk along the way, not-including their resident Dark Elf though, who was being his normal quiet self.

Enakam had suffered the least out of all the prisoners and was the most healthy and none sleep deprived, so he took it upon himself to be their sentinel.

He spoke up at their prodding however, telling them about his amnesia. Though they were clearly still skeptical about the claim (the fact that he still knew how to fight didn't help their opinions any), but he couldn't blame them for that, he didn't even truly understand it either, for all he knew he could have just been a sentient weapon created by some mage or alchemist and have no past to remember.

This theory actually had some merit now that he thought about it, for he retained information extremely well and seemed to know basic terminology, he seemed to know spells almost automatically as soon as he had an impulse or thought, and he was a natural fighter. For all he knew he could just be an advanced automaton. So perhaps he was removed from his original purpose (whatever that was), stolen from whoever built him by the Imperial soldiers who had set up the trap that landed them all in this position.

Somehow he highly doubted this possibility. He didn't doubt that there may have been very skilled mages, builders, alchemists or combinations of these in the world, but he doubted anyone would have the skill or resources to build an automaton so complicated as himself.

He could always be wrong in that assessment, but still...

The humans stopped prodding him at this point, a little creeped out be their ally's outlandish, yet not entirely implausible, theories. Moving on to lighter topics, he learned that Ralof only recently became an officer in the Stormcloaks after a a quick rise thought the ranks since his first joining them only a few years ago. He had been born in Riverwood to legionnaire parents who had raised him in secret worship of Talos.

Ralof was never one for secrecy, so he joined Ulfric's faction so that he could worship in the open.

It was in his boyhood home that they met Hadver, Elsa and Fura. Hadvar and Ralof became fast friends, Fura and Elsa took a bit longer than the boys to bond, but they became as sisters in time. As they grew however...

"It's the oldest story in the book..." Ralof said humorlessly, Elsa gazing into the distance, her eyes hidden by shadows.

She stopped, staring listlessly into the river water sparkling merrily in the waning sunlight.

"To make a long, complicated and no doubt boring story short, Hadvar and I both fancied Fura, but she chose Hadvar when Elsa and I went to Ulfric. I always thought they'd come after us, but we never saw them again after that, but when we heard that they had thrown their lot in with the Empire there might be a chance that we might have to fight against them in the future."

"Up until earlier today, I had hoped that they wouldn't e on the front lines. We were all taught by the same master after all.

"Brutal old taskmaster."

He looked away, and no one said anything wasn't talking anymore so he assumed she was finished.

He continued down the path again and went over the story in his head. The four were all childhood friends growing up in the town down the road, but were later taken in to be trained by a blademaster, likely an legionnaire veteran, and the training helped them grow into mature adults and powerful warriors.

He had half expected Elsa to have been the object of desire for the two boys, rather than Fura. Elsa was beautiful in a more classical sense, taller than her rose-haired counterpart, with blue eyes, wavy black hair and more generous curvature, while Fura was almost short in comparison, with a more petite body and beautiful but somewhat tomboyish features.

Or maybe that was just how Nords were, forgoing classical beauty in favor of tough, more earthy looks. He could definitely see the appeal though...

He took the opportunity to read some books that he found in his satchel, maybe find something that would shake his memories loose.

The books were about magic, and since he only knew two spells so far, he figured that delving deeper couldn't hurt.

Shaking the thoughts from his head he opened the book and saw a rune that looked like a stylized O. Turning the page he saw a diagram that detailed the process of summoning spectral weapons, most notably a two-handed saber from the planes of Oblivion. Some of these techniques seemed to be familiar to him, but some didn't, so that was refreshing if nothing else.

Apparently there were as many different weapons as Oblivion planes, though the most commonly summoned were from was the Deadlands, which ironically enough, was the ream that belonged to the most widely despised of all the daedric lords, Mehrunes Dagon. The sabers summoned from this realm were spiky and jagged, designed to rip and tear rather than cut and pierce, drawing as much pain as was possible from the victim.

Highly disturbed by what he was reading, he moved on to a different diagram, summoning a saber from Moonshadow, the realm of Azura. He stopped walking in shock, _'Azura?'_ That name seemed extremely familiar to him... intimate, almost.

 _'Azura'_ he thought again, and the name seemed to fill him with a warm sensation starting at the center of his being, and spreading outward to his very extremities. What was this emotion, it was strong... very strong, he had only to think the name and he felt invigorated.

Mysteries for another time, he continued walking, shook his head and got back to his reading.

These weapons were still a bit jagged (though one could not escape that spiky design) but they were notably less so. The spectral blade of Moonshadow was less bulky looking, didn't have nearly as much spikes, and didn't have as sharp a pommel. But rather had a more streamlined look, it was still curved, but had a more graceful curvature, and overall looked like a lightning bolt.

Though he did favor the two-handed saber, he decided to study and learn to summon all kinds of arms and armors. If only for the sake of knowledge.

There were more weapon and armor spells listed, such as summoning daggers, bows, greatswords, longswords, spears, partial or full sets of armor of varying types... Anything that one could imagine could be summoned.

Though he didn't see a need for heavy armor with the various protection spells and clearly favored the two-handed saber, he would still endeavor to learn them all for the sake of knowledge if not for practical use.

Knowledge was power after all, one didn't need memories to understand that.

Also, at the end of the book, there was a minor necromancy spell, though upon seeing it he shut the book with an audible thud.

There was a strong outcry coming from the depths of his mind, a warning against the necromantic arts.

He opened the book back up and flipped through the pages to just after the necromancy diagrams.

Lightning, he could immediately tell that's what this diagram was about just by looking at it briefly. Moving on as he already knew how to do that, he found diagrams varying the elements of wind, water, earth, fire and ice. More elements could be created by casting multiple elemental spells in tandem, but that was a more advanced technique that he would leave for another day.

There were others, such as Illusion, Restoration, Alteration and Mysticism. Illusion was the practice of using magic by using the mind as a medium, and with it you could cause a target to feel a specific emotion or sensation, or even make them see things that were not there. Restoration was used for healing, casting wards and using Light elemental magic.

Alteration magic was used for... alteration. With it, one could alter the density of their own body and/or clothes to match that of something else, most commonly various ores. It wasn't clear what Mysticism was to be used for. _"Mysticism involves the manipulation of magical forces and boundaries to bypass the structures and limitations of the physical world."_ The freedoms or limitations of that were purposefully vague, it was up to each individual mage to decide just what to do with Mysticism.

From what he could understand, Mysticism was used to experiment and create spells, and those spells were to be sorted into the five different schools based on what type of spells they were.

There was the obvious question of what should happen if he was ever too low on magicka and unable to cast... the obvious answer to that was to then engage in swordplay and/or hand-to-hand combat, though he didn't know if he knew any techniques, it stood to reason that he did.

"See that ruin up there?" He heard Ralof say after a while of silence. He looked up from his books and put them away, thoroughly confounded by the boundless concept of Mysticism.

Enakam and the others who were unfamiliar with this part of the country looked to see a ruined temple. Large crumbling arches of blackened stone stood out of the snow, marking the entrance.

"Bleak Falls Barrow." He shivered, but not from the cold. "I never understood how my sister could stand living in the shadow of that place.

"I guess you just get used to it after a while." Ralof started walking again, wanting to be away from the foreboding place.

After a while of walking in silence, he noticed that the mentally and physically exhausted humans were stumbling over their own feet, and while he could see just fine, he assumed that they couldn't see in the low-light of dusk as well as he could. "Stop-" he said, stopping abruptly, causing Elsa to stumble into his back, "we need to find some shelter for the night" he started, sticking his hands up to forestall any opposition, "we will reach Riverwood tomorrow."

"But-" Ralof started, eager to get as much distance between them and Helgen and the Imperials as he could, but was interrupted by his read-haired kinsman who grabbed his shoulder, "that's a great idea, it wouldn't do any of us good if we collapsed on the road and got ourselves captured again."

Ralof reluctantly agreed, and the others, too tired to argue, simply nodded their assent.

Looking around, he spotted a wooden door built into the mountain side. A mine maybe?

Pointing it out to his companions, he began his approach but noted a shifting in the trees just before the door. He narrowed his eyes and looked behind him, but they seemed not to notice in their drowsiness. It could have also been their lack of ability to see in the low lighting... but either way he told them to stay back and let him scout ahead.

After they sat down on against some trees to rest their eyes, he began his approach once more.

 _'Why did I do that!? I had several trained soldiers as back up for what could be a cave full of monsters, and I told them to stay back?'_ he was kicking himself for his seemingly insane decision, he looked back at them, and his eyes softened at the sight of them dozing off.

Once again he found himself questioning himself because of his memory problem. Did he have more stamina than them of did his species have a natural fortitude than them?

Shaking his head, he steeled himself for whatever he was to face in the cave.

When he got close enough to where he saw the rustling tree, a large bipedal reptilian creature, an Argonian, lept out of the brush swinging a mace at his head. Just like the last time he was in battle, he felt a feeling of calm sweep over him and he ducked under the mace, but instead of using his magic or sword he reached up and grabbed the shaft of the mace, ripping it away from the Argonian mid-swing and dodged his attempts at clawing at him.

Since he couldn't put a hand to his mouth without getting it bitten off, he gripped his snout, forcing both the upper and lower jaws closed and used his other hand to grip his neck and squeezed.

Enakam forced the Argonian to the ground and straddled his hips. The Argonian thrashed against him, unable to use his voice to get the attention of his allies, but his body was held fast by the Dunmer's waist and legs holding him fast against the ground.

The Dunmer took his hand away from the Argonian's snout, but his other hand gripped the lizard's neck tighter, drowning out his gargling voice. His thrashing only increased as he felt the Dark Elf pull his prized dagger out of his belt and bring it to bear at his throat. He tried to buck his hips against the Elf, but he didn't budge, he tried to move his neck away from the dagger, but it was useless as the dagger was already piercing his neck.

All of this took place in less than five seconds, he didn't draw out the killing. He didn't want to make the Argonian suffer.

Enakam got off the Argonian in a hurry to avoid the spray of blood, and looked on as the lizard-man tried to call out to his companions in the cave, but was unable to make a sound as his voice box was cut open. The Argonian squirmed on the ground as Enakam watched, unable to turn away from the gruesome image, and thoughts began to form unbidden in his mind.

The one thing worse than death is to avert your eyes from it. You must look straight at the people you kill, you must watch as the spark of life leaves their eyes. Don't take your eyes off them for a second, and above all else you must never ever forget them, because no matter how much time goes by they won't forget you.

A solitary tear slipped from his eye as this solemn lesson of the past came to him.

Remembering the situation at hand however, he shook his head to rid himself of these thoughts and wiped the tear from his face.

Drawing his sword, he walked slowly toward the door of the mine, and opened it carefully to avoid alerting the dead Argonian's allies, he stealthily crept in.

Moving slowly so as to avoid giving his position away, he ventured into the unknown territory of the mine. The trade-off however, was that when he went slowly he ended up paying more attention to his surroundings, thus making it easier to spot traps just like the one just in front of him.

It was a tripwire, and connected to it was a simple pulley system that in turn was connected to a thick rope net screwed into the stone ceiling, holding up enormous boulders. So if he had charged in here like some kind of barbarian, he would have triggered that trap and likely would have been crushed if he wasn't fast enough to escape in time.

Part of him looked at the trap and saw a challenge to overcome, but the pragmatic part of him won out in the end, and he simply stepped over the wire and continued on.

Soon enough, he started hearing voices. Two of them, both male, one was voicing concern about the possibility of anyone happening upon them like Enakam was doing at that very moment, and the other, more relaxed sounding, was trying to lay his friend's concern to rest.

Enakam's eyes narrowed in thought, if he had to guess then the more worried sounding one was going to prove a novice in a fight, and the more relaxed and confident sounding one would prove more challenging.

His blood boiled at the thought, he didn't know why he enjoyed combat the way he did, but decided that if that was who he was, he would just have to accept it.

He slowly walked forward to avoid making too much noise (not difficult since he was still barefoot) to get in a position to see them, but they were on the other side of a bridge mechanism. He thought of taking one out with a spell, but decided against it and crossed the wooden bridge that led down to the alcove the two bandits were playing cards.

He crossed the bridge and, looking to the side, he saw a dead body with a leather bound journal nearby. Sneaking down quietly, he opened up and read the journal.

From what he read in the journal, it seemed like these men were indeed bandits, and slavers to boot.

Putting down the journal, he went back to the task at hand with renewed zeal.

Upon reaching the alcove, he saw that there was a lever that most likely controlled the bridge and some some bars that separated the area he was in from the rest of the alcove. Taking in a breath, he pulled the lever and hastily retreated back into the shadows of the doorway as the bridge fell, and the two bandits rushed over to investigate.

When the first bandit reached the doorway, the nervous looking one, he struck with the speed of a coiled serpent, grabbing the bandit's dagger and driving it past the man's chin and into his brain. The bandit dropped his weapon and fell back with an audible thump, this was not ignored by the other bandit however, and Enakam rose his sword into a ready position.

Apparently he had greatly overestimated this opponent when he had thought that he would prove a challenge in battle, for after a few blocks and a parry his blade found a cozy little spot in between the bandit's ribs.

Enakam let out a long sigh, he was greatly disappointing by the lack of a worthy opponent.

He thought back to that dragon that Ulfric killed, allowing himself to think back to the encounter now that his life wasn't in danger. The very word dragon conveyed a sense of great power, and indeed it's attacks were very powerful, despite seeing them very briefly. It displayed two different powers it used its voice to bring into affect, a blast of fire so powerful that anyone caught in it were disintegrated instantly and a blast of energy that sent people and objects caught up in it flying with such force that they caused stone and mortar walls to collapse when they collided.

There were probably many more of these powers at the dragon's disposal, and as strong as they were, he could also see ways to defeat them. For example the fire breath, while fast, could only travel in a straight line from the dragon's jaws and had limited range. The force attack only seemed like bludgeoning force, and if he managed to get far enough away before it hit, then he wouldn't be affected, leaving the dragon vulnerable for the brief period it took to rear its head back so that it could start attacking again.

Then there was the dragon itself. Its scales were tough, but not impenetrable, as he saw when Ulfric drove his sword into its throat.

He shook the thoughts from his head when he heard footsteps from deeper in the cave, apparently his little killing spree wasn't as quiet as he had thought.

Raising his sword and readying a thunder spell, he stood at one end of the bridge in preparation of what sounded like a horde. The cave enhanced sounds it seemed, as instead of dozens of aggressors, there wore only four of them, and not very well armed at that.

When they began charging at him in a disorganized rabble, he threw his hand forward and unleashed a low-powered thunder spell, making the first freeze in his tracks with muscle spasms, before he twisted around and beheaded the second one. He impaled the third through the sternum before kicking him off of the bridge, and by then the first had recovered enough to go on the offensive again, not for long though as he was frozen by Enakam who then grabbed his face before pouring ice magic through his body and throwing the ice statue from the bridge.

The fourth proved more of a challenge however, not giving him enough time to get any spells off. Immediately she locked blades with him and balanced herself on one leg, kicking him in the ribs with the other.

The kick pushed him back, unlocking their blades, and he used that to his advantage to spray her down with Flames. She was smart however, knowing that the worst thing you could do in a fight with a mage would've been to stop and try to put the flames out on your own, and instead charged at him, sword point first, but wthe movement of the flames engulfing her body telegraphed her move, and he easily dodged out of the way and brought his sword down on her back, easily sliding in between her ribs and into her heart.

Extinguishing the flames so that she didn't burn through the bridge, and he went further in without further hesitation.

He stood upright and walked forward rather than continuing his slow gait through the cave, as it was impossible that any other bandits in the cave had not heard the commotion on the bridge.

He was right, it turned out, as no less than three more bandits tried to cut him down as he searched the rest of the cave. The first fell with a blast of frozen air followed by a pommel strike to his frozen throat, the second by arcs of lightning from his fingertips followed by a sword stabbed through his heart, and finally the third had the air knocked from his lungs from a knee to his stomach and was beheaded while he was bent over.

Breathing heavily from the fatigue of the day, he sighed in disappointment. He really should have seen this coming, after all the men and women he had fought back at Helgen were trained soldiers, and compared to that bandits were just... ugh.

Sighing, he began to gather the bodies of the dead (including that slave he had found earlier) and, finding a wide open area of the cave with loose soil, dug graves and gingerly placed the bodies into them. Likely it was better than the bandits deserved, but he felt wrong about just leaving them to become food for wolves or trolls or whatever else would wander into the cave with nobody around to guard it.

Next he picked up a rag and proceeded to clean up the spilled blood, there wasn't all that much of it as all his attacks had been designed to kill instantly and without undue suffering. While in the process of cleaning he found a spell book, he put it in his pack to read later.

Exiting the cave he saw the body of the Argonian, and digging another grave behind the nearby bushes, he buried him as well.

Walking to where he left his human companions, he saw them either sleeping against the tree or struggling to keep their eyes open.

Elsa was standing at the far side of the clearing with her back to him, staring into the distance with her sword and dagger in hand.

"Wake up!" he said loudly, waking them from their nap, and when he had their attention he said "I found us a place to sleep safely for the night."

He turned and they got up from their rock and followed him into the mine, up to an alcove where they could start a fire and get a decent meal.

The humans sat at down around the table while Enakam searched the nearby chests, sacks and shelves and found a good deal of dried meats, fruits, vegetables and spices.

He put most of it in his pack for later and grabbed an iron grate and a pair of tongs to prepare some good sized slabs of venison over the fire.

He was initially nervous when he heard that no one present knew knew how to cook anything more than soup (Elsa may have known, but she wasn't exactly saying anything at the moment), but calmed when he found several manuals on the subject.

While they waited on their supper, they decided to introduce themselves. Apparently they did not all know each other, contrary to his original thoughts. They were all so casual with trusting one another with watching each others backs, but that must had more to do with being in enemy territory and having had only each other to rely on, and less on trust.

"I'm Ragneir" the redhead they had rescued from the dungeons said, "and this is my brother Aenar" he continued, putting his hand on the shoulder of the younger brunet man, "don't take it the wrong way if he doesn't say anything. Poor boy had his tongue cut out by those damn Imperials."

Ralof clapped the mute on the shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look. Unable to offer the young man any more condolence than the fact that the ones who did this were now dead.

Enakam looked down at the fire, brooding.

"Ulfgar" the old man said simply, busy concentrating on his hands where he was whittling something that looked like a horse. "Hella" said his daughter, similarly keeping herself busy, but with sharpening her sword on the nearby grindstone.

For a while after that, the only sounds in the cave was the cooking of the venison, the scraping of whittling and the grinding of steel on stone.

"Enakam" the Dunmer said after a while of silence, only having just realized that the others had yet to learn his name.

"Well then Enakam," Ulfgar said, looking up from his wooden horse, "I've been curious about something for a while now."

"Oh, and what's that?" Enakam asked, pouring ale on the venison slabs.

"I've seen many of you Dark Elves in my time, but you don't really look like any of them.

"The colors are right, mostly, but you still don't look right" He said, and the Elf's eyebrows shot up to his hairline at the statement. Elsa scoffed, not caring in the lest that the resident Elf didn't have 'traditional Dunmer features' and stormed off to a different part of the cave. Ralof leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, curious at the old man's explanation.

"First of all, you're too tall." Enakam snorted, as even to him that one sounded a little flimsy. One didn't need memories to know that something like height was a variable, and not entirely race dependent. "Second, your eyes are to big, and your iris take up most of them, I can barely see your sclera." He narrowed his, evidently too big, eyes in thought. The man must have attended an academy or something in his life, to know complex terms like those.

"Third, your hair is too white. I've known white haired dark elves before, but they're hair was more gray than white. Your hair is like snow. Last are your ears, they're too long and taper to too fine a point."

He felt the aforementioned features, taking note of the long silky strands and the hard, yet slightly flexible pointed shells. He didn't see anything wrong with them but the elderly human obviously knew more about this kind of thing than he did.

He used the tongs to flip the venison over on the iron grate and spray some more ale on the other side.

Unfortunately this only strengthened his automaton theory, as all the traits he had listed made him a better fighter (except the thing about his hair, that just made him more aesthetically pleasing). The superior height gave him a longer reach and made him able to run faster, the bigger ears made him able to hear things most people couldn't, and the bigger eyes made him able to see further and gave him a wider peripheral range.

Maybe he really was a weapon, anyway he looked at it his every feature and trait gave him an undeniable advantage on the battlefield.

He shook his head, he really needed to put that ridiculous theory out of his head.

Or maybe he was a mere half-breed. He told the old man about his half-breed theory and he snorted and said "well that's obvious, but with what?"

He almost growled at Ulfgar for playing with his mind the way he was, but calmed himself as it was just his imagination going out of control.

"If it was just the height, I'd say high elf, but even they don't have ears like that."

Ralof chose that moment to speak up "I saw a falmer once," he teased "it was pretty tall and had ears kind of like that."

His eyes hardened, the word falmer greatly angered him for some reason.

Ulfgar snorted, knowing what Ralof was trying to imply and voiced his objection. If only because of how screwed up the implication was. "Falmer? Those things don't even..." he didn't hear anything further as he became lost in his thoughts.

Why did that word affect him so? What was his connection to it? Why was he so angry? These questions and more bounced around his mind, echoing and resounding, growing louder and louder, more and more furious, bouncing eternally off the inside of his skull.

The next thing he knew, Elsa was yelling into his ear, saying that he was going to burn the food. He shook his head, almost clipping her with his ear, and noted that indeed, the venison was now ready to serve.

He moved it from the grate to a large plate where he used a large butchers knife to cut the large slabs into seven equal portions, he moved the portions of venison to plates and served it up to himself and his Nord and Breton companions.

* * *

Enakam stepped out into the light of the morning sun and stretched all the kinks out of his body.

Turning back to the others, Enakam idly noted that Elsa was no longer angry, but instead in a severe depression. Internally sighing, he said said "come on, let's go."

The companions once again began their trek toward Riverwood. This time the only trouble they ran into was two wolves, but Enakam held up his arm and stopped the old man before he could shoot them down with his bow, Enakam cast the calming spell he had learned from the illusion tome the previous night, and green light spread from his hand and enveloped the wolves, before fading, lines of green light tracing along their fur and eyes. He reaching into his pack, he threw two decent sized pieces of meat on the ground.

The magically pacified wolves picked up the meat and ran into the bushes. When questioned about his decision to spare the two animals he simply pointed to the side of the road, at a cluster of bushes about ten feet away. The two soldiers followed his gaze, and saw three wolf pups with the two wolves from before running up to them and giving them the meat before the pups yipped excitedly and attacked it with vigor while their mom and dad watched on protectively, only eating themselves once their puppies had their fill.

The wolves were just parents out to find some food for their babies. The three stood and watched the scene for a few moments longer before Enakam said softly "let's go."

The four younger soldiers nodded, humbled at learning that if their friend had not stopped them they would have condemned those wolf pups to starve. That just as humans had to hunt to feed their families, so to did these so-called mindless beasts.

They began to walk once more, toward the village gate easily visible in the distance.

* * *

The spectral sword I am describing is the daedric sword from Elder Ocrolls Online. The one from Skirim just looked to evil for a heroic (if morally ambiguous) character to use, and I didn't want to cut it out entirely since as a Mage he's going to be using these quite a bit (but not as a replacement for steel swords) so I'm just going to say that each realm of Oblivion has it's own variations of daedric weapons and armor.

The scenes with Enakam burying his enemies bodies and sparing the wolves was to display his merciful side, which is almost exclusively directed toward animals and the weak and helpless. He's utterly ruthless, but mostly toward people threatening him in some way. Plus I really love wolves.

Here's a potential spoiler for you guys, but only for those of you who are familiar with a certain manga (I'm not going to specify, otherwise those of you who aren't familiar with it would just look it up and spoil the story for yourselves); Enakam is is the Griffith (don't look him up, people who aren't familiar with him) of the Elder Scrolls universe.

Those of you who are familiar with the manga and character, tell me what you think. Those of you who aren't, don't look it up and run the risk of spoiling it for yourselves.


	4. Riverwood

**The Last Dragonborn**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Riverwood  
**

* * *

"Things look quiet enough here" Ralof said as the group finally entered the gates of Riverwood.

The town of Riverwood was surprisingly large for what he had assumed, and surrounded by high grey walls of stone to keep out monsters and bandits. Armed and uniformed guards casually patrolled the streets, people were walking the cobblestone streets, buying their daily necessities at the market, the lumber mill down hill was alive with the sounds of hammering and sawing...

For a brief moment, in his mind the peaceful picture was overcome with screams and dragon-fire, he shook his head and the gruesome image was gone.

"Come on, there's my sister." Ralof said, shaking him from his reverie, pointing towards a "Gerdur!" Ralof ran forward to greet his relative, and Enakam simply walked forward at a leisurely pace, amused at the man's excitement.

The older human turned, her eyes widened at seeing her brother at her home. "Brother!" She exclaimed, wrapping the man in a tight embrace, "Mara's mercy, it's good to see you." Ralof returned the embrace for a heartfelt moment that had Enakam feeling a twinge of jealousy, as he briefly had any family to go back to...

Ralof put his hands on Gerdur's upper arms and pushed her away "Gerder-" he tried to say, but was interrupted, "but is it safe for you to be here? I heard rumors that Ulfric and his generals had gotten captured." His worried sister said hurriedly, and Ralof's eyes softened. The empire's reputation for cruelty to their prisoners was earned, but it was also necessary. Else the empire would have crumbled long ago without Tiber Septim alive to hold it all together.

"Gerdur I'm fine," Gurder sighed in relief at that, "were all fine now. Ulfric is likely back in Winterhold by now and..." Enakam tuned out the conversation between the humans in favor of watching their surroundings. After their escapades prior to Helgen he was more than a little paranoid.

Looking around discreetly, he saw that, barring Elsa, their companions were leaving. They were walking down the street in what looked to be the direction of the tavern. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He he had been through what they had, and for all he knew he may actually have been, he would want a drink too.

People were walking the streets, some of them looking at him weirdly and some of them pointedly avoiding looking at him considering who was conversing mere feet away from him, but what drew his eye was a handsome blond man in somewhat frilly clothes staring straight at him and the two humans next to him. When he zeroed in on the blond, he turned and walked stiffly away.

 _'A spy?'_ thought Enakam with narrowed eyes. He was about to give chase when Gerdur said "Helgen?" slightly louder than usual, drawing his attention back to their conversation. "Has something happened?" She stopped herself before she said anything with prying ears nearby. "You're right, follow me."

With that, the woman turned from them and yelled into the open second story window of the house. "Hod! Come down here a minute, I need your help with something." A bumping sound echoed out from the window before a man's head appeared.

"What is it, woman?" The man asked, resting his arms on the windowsill and looking toward the retreating blond, "Sven drunk on the job again?" he asked annoyingly. Enakam glanced at the man's back suspiciously.

Now that he knew his name, it would be much easier to track him down and see if he truly was a threat.

"Ralof! What are you doing here?" the man yelled in a more pleasant tone when he saw his brother-in-law, but continued speaking before the Stormcloak officer could answer, "ahh...I'll be right down."

"You know what," Enakam cut in, "you guys enjoy your reunion. I'm going to get a drink at the tavern." Ralof looked like he was going to say something, maybe ask him to stay, but closed his eyes and nodded his assent. He turned and walked down the cobblestone road, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder before he could make much headway.

He had to stop himself from lashing out as he turned to see that it was Gerdur who had stopped him. "My brother says that you saved his life," he looked down at the road, he didn't know about that, the others could have made it without him...

 _'Fura.'_ He remembered the intensity of their fight, and their reactions when he had told them he had met her. _'Or maybe not.'_ He looked up at Gerdur to see that she was offering him a pouch of coins. "Ralof says you don't have anything of your own, that the Imperials confiscated it all." He nodded, taking the pouch, but then her voice changed from a professional tone to what he assumed was the tone of a worried sister "thank you for keeping him safe."

He nodded with a smile before turning away. _'Sven, huh?'_

Opening the door of the inn, he was greeted with stares and murmuring, but he ignored them and approached the serious looking breton woman he guessed was the owner. She was rather beautiful, even considering that she looked to be in her 50s, which was apparently middle aged by human standards. Her beautiful face, however, was marred somewhat by the look of suspicion she wore when looking at him.

She wore a nice blue dress with a brown leather corset and matching boots, an altogether fashionable outfit, albeit somewhat threadbare.

"You're that visitor, been poking around" she said, he blinked a few times at her blunt statement, and before he could manage a response she said "I'm the innkeeper," she crossed her arms and continued "it's my business to keep track of strangers."

He cleared his throat, purposefully not thinking about the implications and ramifications of that statement, he said "I'd like a place to stay tonight" he said simply, she looked to be in no mood for a long drawn-out transaction, even though it was her who had done most of the talking. In response she let out a long suffering sigh and held out her hand, "10 septims."

Blinking at her short, to-the-point statement he reached into the small coin-purse Gerdur gave him and handed her the coins. "The room over there-" she pointed her finger at a door by the front desk, "-is free, make yourself at home."

Rather than follow her advice, he turned to leave the inn but as he approached the door, a new voice sounded, "ah, friend, a moment?" Enakam turned to greet this new person in an attempt to be polite, but was secretly itching to get out of his tattered clothes and into something fresh.

Immediately he was on alert, for the one who hailed him was not just another villager, it was Sven himself. Enakam smirked, now he wouldn't have to go hunting.

"You're new in town, aren't you? I'm Sven." The man bowed exaggeratedly, instantly marking himself as something of a fop, "it's a pleasure. Are you just passing through?"

"I might stay a day or so, rest and buy supplies, but I will be on my way soon enough. Why do you ask?" Enakam said, taking care to keep any indication of sis suspicions of the man out of his voice.

"If you could give this letter to the woman inside the Riverwood Trader," he extended his empty hand toward the Dunmer, and in a sleight of hand made the letter appear in it, I would greatly appreciate it."

He raised his eyebrows almost incredulously at the flowing script, so he had to ask "a love letter?"

The Nord laughed, an easy, pleasant sound. "Oh no, Camilla likes me well enough, and I've no need to win her love." He lowered his voice, and leaned in with the infuriatingly arrogant smirk of one who thinks themselves better than everyone else. "However, there's a miserable little Wood Elf named Faendal nosing around her as well. This letter is 'from him' if you take my meaning, and should put an end to any notion of the two of them having a future together!"

Enakam kept his face blank, but was inwardly insulted by this plan. What exactly was this man thinking approaching him with this plan, much less saying things like 'miserable elf', was this man blind as well as dumb?

"Very well, I shall deliver the letter so that beautiful Camilla may find love with whom she truly belongs." He said, turning to go on his way, ignoring Sven's wide smile.

It wasn't a lie, not truly, it just wasn't the whole truth. He would indeed deliver the letter, after waiting for the opportune moment of course.

Sven smirked at the retreating Dunmer's back. His gambit had worked perfectly. He knew that the elf had caught him spying on their little 'war meeting', and even though he hadn't gotten anything important, he just had to stick around a little longer now that Ralof was back.

He had to dodge suspicion for now, and he had been waiting for an outsider for a while now to take care of the competition, and this seemed to line up perfectly.

Two birds...

* * *

The Riverwood Trader was medium sized, two story hut with a basement to store their stock. As Enakam entered, he saw that two humans were arguing with each other from either side of the store counter. Both had tanned skin and dark hair, separating them from the pale and light haired Nords, and both of them had a distinct accent as well. The one behind the counter was likely the proprietor, while the other was likely a family member.

Lucan was a handsome man of medium height with short hair and a closely shaven mustache and beard. He wore fashionable red and white clothes with brown leather boots and belt pouches.

Camilla, he was assuming, was young-looking, maybe mid 20's, and certainly attractive enough to be on the receiving end of such a... fatal attraction, he supposed. She wore a richly made yellow dress with nicely made brown leather boots, a leather pouch and a dagger. He would have to be careful when delivering the letter, the dagger marked her as being at least somewhat capable of self-defense, and there was no telling what she would do if she truly did love Sven as the fop had said.

But even so, she needed to know the truth. A relationship built upon foundations of deception was doomed to fail. Of course it was also probable that this was all a trap, the letter might very well be in code, and these two being Imperials did not help his paranoia one whit. Either way, he would have to tread very carefully.

Enakam managed to overhear something about a theft. It seemed the woman was in favor of retrieving the goods, and the man was not. They stopped their talking as the door swung shut behind him.

"Welcome to the Riverwood Trader, my friend! Sorry you had to hear that, but what can I do for you today?" The man, at least, was more interested in bartering than continuing the argument. Or so it appeared, but he pushed those suspicions aside for the moment, as he was desperately in need of new gear.

Enakam was happy to oblige him, eager to get rid of his tattered armor and all the other access weight he had been lugging around.

He divested himself of his pack and began to rifle through it, deciding what to sell. One by one he picked items out of the backpack, a few armor pieces, a shortbow and a quiver of arrows that he had no idea how to use and had no inclination to learn, a few daggers including the enchanted one he had pilfered from that Argonian bandit, and a few books.

As he was doing this, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked about what he had overheard.

It turned out that a golden artifact in the shape of a claw had been stolen from his shop recently. The thieves who had broken in had not stolen anything else, something which indicated that they knew exactly what they were looking for. That was suspicious in and of itself.

How a group of bandits made it past the walls and guards was its own story, and one he suspected he would not get. Such a thing happening right under the town guards noses would only make them look bad, so questioning them on the matter would only make them clam up. Or maybe these bandits had an insider in the guard, something that the guard would root out themselves before too long, who let them in.

It did make him look forward to facing them though, if this bandit band was strong enough to muscle their way past the guards, then the prospect for a good fight was too good to ignore.

"What my brother is not telling you is that I know where they are." Camilla said in a louder voice than was necessary, talking over her brother in order to get his attention. "I heard one of them mention Bleak Falls Barrow, an old ruin to the west of town. I know where it is, and can go –" Lucan cut her off with a yell "no! Out of the question!" Exclaimed Lucan, banging his fist on the counter making some of the smaller items jump ever so slightly. "I will not have you gallivanting off –"

"Lucan, it's only a few hours away—"

"I will not have my sister—"

Enakam chose that moment to interject, not wanting to see their argument get any louder. "I could get it back for you" he didn't know why he said that and was inwardly kicking himself for putting himself in unnecessary danger, going into an ancient ruin filled with thieves and undead soldiers (he had read a bestiary before he went to bed the previous night). But his sense of self-preservation and pragmatism was short lived, as it was almost immediately overridden by the sensation of blood dancing within his veins at the prospect of going through with this quest.

He really was a fighting fool.

"I could get the claw back for you," he said with more confidence than he felt, "that way Camilla doesn't have to put herself in danger, and you can get your heirloom back."

Both of the Valerius siblings seemed taken aback. Camilla was the first to recover, turning on her brother with a triumphant look. "You see brother? He will do it, even if you will not let me go." She turned to Enakam. "Come back here tomorrow, and I will take you there."

"No! You are not going, and that is final!" Lucan yelled, banging his fist on the counter once again, every fiber of his being objecting the thought of his baby sister putting herself in harms way for a trinket, valuable as it was.

"Well then, brother," she said with a sugary sweet smile and a deceptively sweet voice, "I can at least show our brave adventurer to the edge of town? Or are you afraid I will run off with him rather than stay here with you?" His eyes grew wide at the implications of her statement, even though he knew she was only being sarcastic... or sardonic, one of the two.

He honestly could not tell which.

"Fine, fine." He let out a long suffering sigh at his strong willed sister's antics, and turned back to the strange soft-featured dunmer. "Come by tomorrow and she'll get you on your way. We open before dawn, so don't worry about the hour. I have some gold left over from my last shipment, once the claw is back it is yours."

Enakam was still thinking on the fact that he had agreed to go to an ancient Nordic tomb to deal with a pack of thieves, and if he was unlucky, zombies. He had acted rashly, against his own nature as a long lived elf he was naturally patient and slow going, but the more time he spent around these humans the more he got caught up in their frantic pace.

Or another possibility was that it was his own lust for combat that made him act this way. It may have been possible that this was something new in him, a possible side effect of his amnesia. Or he may have always been like this, and the loss of his memories making him lose whatever control he had over his bloodlust and recklessness.

Agreeing to this was a rash action, he held no illusions otherwise, but it was also right, aiding these two law abiding citizens and acting against the will of bandits and so he would keep his word to them.

On the plus side, having the friendship of a merchant would go a long way in the long run.

Thinking on the dangers he would face brought him back to his current dilemma, and chose that moment to bring it up.

"I also need some new armor, as you can probably tell" he waved his hand over the tattered rags he wore, indicating all the cuts and abrasions in the rough, threadbare material and the missing sleeve. "I want a warm cloak as well, lined with fur as I am not yet used to the cold of Skyrim" he shuffled off the cloak he had picked up in the bandits den which might still be worth something despite its battle-worn condition.

Lucan looked thoughtful. "Done. Camilla, go grab the spare cloak in the barrel over there-" he pointed to the stairs leading toward what was likely the living quarters above them, "-and you, follow me downstairs, I think I have a set that will suit you perfectly." He said, rounding the desk and making his way for the stairs leading down into the basement, and shrugging he followed the man down the rickety wooden stairs into the spacious basement filled with weapon racks, boxes and chests filled with who knew what, mannequins outfitted with various clothing and armor sets...

The Valerius siblings were a couple of pack-rats.

Lucan led him to a mannequin wearing a what looked like armored robes. It looks like Lucan had assumed that by virtue of him being a Dunmer meant that he was a mage, and the fact that he carried a sword meant that he was a spellsword. He was honestly insulted by the race-based assumption, true as it may be, but didn't bother calling the shopkeeper out on it.

Lucan had a good eye.

The underlying layer of the suit were simple thick black undergarments, protecting his skin from the cold steel mail trousers and formfitting hauberk ending just below waist level covered by a silvery-steel breastplate set with intricate swirls, the underside of which was padded with white fur to prevent it from clanking in his hauberk as he moved (and to keep him warm besides). Next was an ornately designed dark auburn/black robe that stretched down to slightly below the ankles, with a slit running down the backside starting from the waistline to allow for horseback riding. The final layer were silvery-steel lame-style gauntlets, greaves, sabatons and pauldrons, the underside of them being similarly padded with white fur . Last was the large brown leather pouch at the end of a leather belt that went around his shoulders, and smaller pouches attached to a belt tied around the waist.

"I bought this-" Lucan said, disrupting his thoughts about the beautiful armor, "-off of a mercenary a few years ago. Honestly thought I'd never sell it," at this Enakam looked to Lucan in confusion, it was a beautiful suit, anyone would feel lucky to have it. "Nords are leery about magic, and even those who aren't don't wear armor."

Enakam hummed in thought, from what he heard, Nords were either pure warriors or pure mages, there didn't seem to be any middle ground with these people. It was sad, truly, magic was a powerful tool in the right hands, and if a fighter were to use it to enhance their combat prowess...

"I'll-" he was interrupted as Lucan continued his explanation as to why the suit was hard to get rid of "besides, it's too tall." Enakam stopped and stared at Lucan incredulously before turning and inspecting the armor some more. It was true, as ridiculous as it sounded, most Nords, a least the ones he had seen, simply were not tall enough to wear it. Even the mannequin wearing the armor was around the average height of a high elf.

"I will take it. How much do you want for it?" He asked, having already fallen in love with the suit.

Lucan grasped his chin in thought, making calculations "The things you sold me already minus the cost of the cloak, which Camilla made herself might I add, plus some of the reward for retrieving the claw... that should just about cover it."

With that, Lucan nodded to himself, and sticking out a hand he said "deal?"

Enakam thought for a moment, with this he wouldn't be able to buy any potions or spell books... but he was going to another den of bandits, he might be able to pick up some. Plus it was an ancient ruin, he might be able to find some long lost spell or something.

"Deal" he said, shaking Lucan's hand to confirm the transaction.

"There's a changing screen over there" Lucan said, unhooking the straps and buckles that held the armor to the mannequin, "go ahead and change, come upstairs when you're done and we'll finish up here."

He handed the armor to Enakam and went upstairs while Enakam changed.

One minute later, Enakam climbed the stairs into the shop proper in his new suit of armored robes, his two-handed saber now properly attached to his belt, and walked toward the front desk to collect his new cloak, his old clothes in a neatly folded pile behind the changing curtain, likely to be thrown on the fire when he left. "Wow Lucan, you were right," Camilla said when she saw him, "it definitely suits him." He blushed when she gave him a flirtatious wink.

"Enough of that," Lucan said, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, "anyway, here's the cloak, and now your reward for retrieving the claw will be fifty septims less." If Enakam was at all bothered by the loss he didn't show it, his attention captured by the cloak he was holding in his hands.

The cloak was a dark reddish-brown, almost black in color, it was made of a woolen material, light enough to sway in a breeze but heavy enough to ward off the cold, and the top portion was lined with white fur, looking like it came from a white fox similar to one he had seen on the way from Helgen. It was also very wide, wide enough to fully encircle his body when worn around his shoulders.

He threw it around his shoulders, the sides swept back like a cape and held in place by his shoulder guards, but when he saw that there was no clasp to fasten it in place, he heard Camilla say "here, let me get that."

She reached into the pouch at her side and withdrew a broach. The broach was a silver oval with a luminescent blue gemstone embedded into it.

"Free of charge" she said, taking the flaps of his cloak in her hand and clasping them into place with the broach. Taking a step back and looking him over with a smile of approval she held up a handheld mirror so he could see himself.

He had to admit, he made for a pretty imposing figure.

He touched his new broach in his gloved hands and his eyes softened in thought. He couldn't help but feel that his new outfit was more expensive than they were letting on, but what reason did these people have for giving them to him at a discount and lying to him about it? And then Camilla gave him this expensive jeweled broach for free. Were these two truly kind individuals, or was he just overthinking this.

Ralof, Gerdur (even though he only spoke to her very briefly), Lucan and Camilla... the people of Riverwood treated him with such kindness when they had no reason to. It gave him hope, perhaps humans weren't as bad as he had thought after experiencing their darker side at Helgen. If anything it made him guilty, he remembered his responsibility to Camilla, he had to deliver Sven's letter to her. Sven was a liar, willing to use a stranger to deliver his deception to the woman he claimed to love in order to get rid of some competition.

He couldn't let Sven have her.

"Camilla" he said softly, the woman quirked her head curiously at his change in attitude, "what is it?"

"I don't know how to tell you this, especially after you have been so kind to me."

Camilla was at a loss at the remorse in his voice, but she guessed that it must have been something bad. It was like he thought she was going to tear off the broach she gave him and throw it at him. Behind the counter her brother came to a similar conclusion about their suddenly reticent customer and leaned on the table in curiosity.

He reached into his new pouch and pulled out a folded letter an Camilla's eyes narrowed, but before she could reach out and grab it he held out his hand to stop her.

"Sven..." he gulped, afraid of upsetting her or even worse, make her cry at the news, "he asked me to give this to you and..."

 _''Sven?'_ she thought, wondering what he was up to. "He wanted me to say lie... and say that this was from Faendal."

There it was, the deception out in the open. Camilla gasped in disbelief, wondering if the deception was the Dunmer's or the Nord's, and was inwardly torn. She had known Sven for years, and while he was somewhat lazy, he wasn't an outright liar... was he? On the other hand, this Dunmer truly had no reason to lie to her, and he seemed to be telling the truth, if his sudden guilty look was anything to go by.

Lucan on the other hand had known Sven longer than she had, he knew the Nord to be an arrogant slacker who lied to get what he wanted, he ran off to the Bard's College in Solitude rather than pick up the slack left by his father's death, and even now that he was back he frequently shirked his duties at the mill, instead scrounging up whatever coin he could by playing his stupid songs at the tavern.

"That snake!" Needless to say it didn't surprise him at all that the bard would try something like this.

Suddenly angry, Camilla snatched the letter out of his hand and tore it open. Eyes shifting back and forth as she read at a furious pace, she suddenly broke out in a barking laugh, confusing him somewhat. "Does Sven think I'm stupid!?" she yelled, causing him to blink incredulously.

He would've thought she'd be angry at him for bringing her this potentially heartbreaking news... had Sven just been delirious, fooling himself into believing that this woman cared for him more than she actually did?

Evidently so.

He could only stare, unblinking, as the bizarre scene unfolded in front of him.

Camilla scoffed and threw the letter on the desk where Lucan picked it up and started to read at a considerably more leisurely pace than what she had done. "I mean, I know Nords see a pair of pointed ears and automatically assume 'Almderi Dominion'-" she said, quoting the name with her fingers, "-but this is ridiculous!"

Lucan, having finished reading the letter, laughed at the apparent stupidity of it.

Enakam was... beginning to think that his guilt in this endeavor was wasted, and that if anything he should be more worried about Sven's well-being.

Something he couldn't bring himself to do.

"I trust you can handle Sven?" a grinning Lucan said to a calming down Camilla with an almost cruel glint in his eye.

"Oh, I think so" Camilla replied with a sickeningly sweet smile.

Enakam visibly gulped.

* * *

It was an exhausted and naked Enakam who fell into his bed at the inn that night, his gear in a chest at the foot of the bed and the door locked behind him to protect his modesty. Rationally he knew that modesty and nudity didn't normally go together, but when it came to the prospect of sleeping, nudity felt more natural to him than bundling up, despite the frigid temperature outside.

Or perhaps in spite of it.

 _'What a day.'_

Admittedly, today wasn't as harrowing as yesterday, but that went without saying.

First, he and his companions made their way to Riverwood from the mine, then the mess with Sven that was not even worth mentioning. Then he received yet another quest from Lucan and Camilla, retrieve an heirloom from a den of bandits.

Then he had spoken with Ralof and Elsa, requesting they teach him a few things about battle, thinking that maybe it would jog his memory.

It hadn't, but he did learn that he was a better combatant than he had thought. Ignoring the gasps of shock and looks of suspicion when he used magic as he squared off with them, all the while expecting to the spar to be over very quickly.

To his pleasant surprise, he had done very well. His speed and reflexes enough to get him out of the way of Elsa's furious strikes, and his strength enough for him to block Ralof's slower but significantly stronger attacks. When he needed to, he would use a ward spell to block a sword strike he couldn't reach in time with his sword.

The longer the fight drew on, the more excited he got. He had previously assumed that he enjoyed the physical act of violence, but it seemed that was a vast understatement; he thrived under pressure, he lived for the thrill of battle!

He lost the impromptu battle though, he had expected no differently though. He was fighting two highly trained soldiers with only muscle-memory as far as skill went, after all. He did earn some admiration from the locals though, as he only used magic in the form of wards so he could fight with a make-shift shield, the Nords admired combat prowess, and it was evident to them that despite his use of magic, he possessed this in spades.

After that, it was time for the evening meal, and while his friends left for Gurder's house, he went to the inn. He sat at one of the tables lining the walls to avoid drawing attention. Although all attention was on him anyway, he was the only dark elf in town after all, and even among dark elves he stood out, with his armored robes, fur lined cloak and unusual features.

As he ate his dinner of venison and steamed vegetables and drank from a flagon of ale, suffering through Sven's sub-par singing, though that was becoming less terrible the more he drank, Camilla and Lucan burst through the doors.

The loud banging of the door against the wall got everyone's attention, Enakam turned in place to see what Camilla had planned, Lucan went to sit at a the bar, and Sven stopped playing and approached the Imperial with a wide smile on his face, thinking that the elf succeeded in carrying out his lie.

"Camilla my dear!" Sven said loudly, not noticing the woman's mischievous smirk or Faendal glaring at the Nord's back from his place at Enakam's side.

 _'Well would you look at that, dinner and a show',_ Enakam thought humorously.

"Oh my dearest Sven," she said sweetly, and he almost gagged, "its the most curious thing." she stated coyly, walking past Sven with a seductive sway to her sway to her hips, drawing wolf-whistles and hoots from the mouths of those watching the drama unfold, though Faendal looked torn between glaring heatedly at Sven and admiring Camilla's every move, so he settled for doing both.

"Oh, and what is that my love" Sven said huskily, falling into Camilla's trap. She was playing him like a harp, and Sven was supposed to be the bard, Enakam was impressed.

"You see, I've received the most troubling letter today." Camilla was really getting into this little play of hers, he was getting worried about Faendal though, he looked to be ready to jump in and start an argument. He put a hand on the other elf's shoulder, and when the archer turned to look at him he shook his head, gesturing him to wait and watch.

"A letter?" Sven asked, expertly feigning ignorance, "and what was in this letter exactly?" He looked over at Faendal with a malicious smirk, not seeing the vengeful/playful look on Camilla's face, though everyone else in the tavern saw it, and stayed silent, watching the drama unfold, and in the background he could hear some people making whispered bets on how this would turn out.

He smirked, feeling the urge to get in on that.

"It was from Faendal..." she said softly, and beside him said elf let out a scandalized gasp, but before he could say anything he laid a hand on the other elf's shoulder and gave him a small shake of his head, and reluctantly Faendal kept silent.

"Faendal? What did he have to say?" Sven asked innocently, his face adorned with a smug victorious look.

At that, Camilla reached up to the intentionally low neckline of her dress took the letter out from her cleavage slowly and tantalizingly. Feeling the gazes of every single eye in the tavern on her, she resisted the urge to break out in a wide grin and ruin her plan.

"Dear Camilla" she began, in a fake sad tone.

"I know I have called upon you at your house many times," she read, skillfully drawing out each word for dramatic effect without looking like she was trying to, "and while we may be growing close, I need you to put any desires you may have for me aside. I am a true-born son of Valenwood," she suppressed a snort, Faendal had been born in Riverwood and had never even traveled any further than Whiterun, "and I could never befoul my bloodline by courting an Imperial." Here Enakam had to squeeze Faendal's shoulder as it looked like the Bosmer would jump up and to address the lies and slander.

"I hope we can remain true friends, provided you understand your people's place in the Aldmeri Dominion," Faendal's mouth dropped open in a gape as his wide eyes twitched madly, "and respect me as such.

"Sincerely," Camilla couldn't suppress a roll of her eyes at the word sincerely, Faendal had never ended a letter to her that coldly, "Faendal." She finished reading, folding the letter but keeping it in her hands.

Silence reigned in the tavern, as no one wanted to interrupt the show.

"But," she said, interrupting Sven's victorious inner monologue. "It's the strangest thing, because you see..." here her voice turned confident and cold.

She paused for a moment until the tavern patrons were on the edge of their seats.

Enakam took a bite of his venison, and as if that were her cue, she finally said "it's in your handwriting."

Sven's face suddenly lost all color, and there was a collective intake of air at the unexpected turn.

Enakam smiled and took another bite of his venison, letting go of his grip on the Wood Elf's shoulder and giving it a reassuring pat.

Sven sputtered, obviously not prepared for the eventuality that he would be found out, all of a sudden he was the villain of this story, and he didn't like it. His bardic training left him it seems, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts to defend himself.

"It... It's only a forgery my dear, yes a forgery made by a desperate elf trying to drive us apart."

Camilla expected this sort of response, and had a retort prepared, "but if Faendal only wanted to be friends-" she began, the coyness returning to her voice, "why would he be desperate enough to resort to forgery?" She had backed him into a corner, and she knew it.

Normally Sven was more eloquent, as was expected of any self-respecting bard, but being so caught off guard, he couldn't form a proper response.

Seeing his panic, her voice became cold again, she walked forward slowly, smiling with maliciously when he backed away in fear.

"Do you think I'm stupid Sven? Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?"

She stopped walking when she had him literally backed into a corner, "even if your messenger had told me that the letter was from Faendal as you asked him to do-" here Sven's full deception was revealed, and Sven found his second wind in his anger at the dark elf.

She smirked and moved out of the way as Sven charged toward the object of his impotent rage.

"You!" the Nord yelled in anger, and the captive audience grew more interested at the new member in the unfolding drama.

Enakam wasn't sure whether he should feel pleased or insulted to be included in this little piece of dinner theater, but seeing as he was already involved, resigned himself to it.

"Me" Enakam said taking a bite of his venison which at this point was miraculously still hot, the patrons laughed at his callous indifference, while it only angered Sven further. "You were supposed to-" the bard yelled helplessly, but having had had enough of his voice he put his fork down and stood to his full height, the tall elf towering over Sven who backed away in fright.

"Yes, you told me to deliver the letter," he said calmly, his hard voice and glowing eyes scaring the wits out of Sven much to Camilla's pleasure, "and tell her that it was really from Faendal." Here he gestured to the other elf to stand, and even though Faendal stood slightly shorter than the bard, his entirely black eyes staring into his only heightened his sense of fear.

"When I told you I would deliver the letter that Camilla may find love where she may, I was telling you the truth. Just not the whole truth."

Not able to take anymore, Sven turned and ran for the door, only for Camilla's fist to smash into his nose, crunching the soft cartilage within.

Sven fell to his knees with a cry of pain and a gush of blood from his now thoroughly broken nose. Camilla grabbed the sides of his head, caressing them softly, an intimate gesture that only filled Sven with more fear.

Fear that was justified when, with a feminine war cry, her clothed knee smashed him between the eyes.

Sven fell to the ground, and stayed there stunned, before getting up and ignominiously fleeing the inn, leaving trails of blood and urine behind him.

Silence reigned for a moment longer before everyone let out cheers, flagons of ale were raised, shouts of praise were heard, there were even a few asking for marriage.

Shaking his head in amusement at it all, he picked up his own flagon and raised it high in a toast.

Camilla on the other hand, ignored all of this and walked over to Faendal who was looking at her admiringly. She grabbed his face in both hands and pulled him into a deep kiss, more cheers were raised by the increasingly drunken patrons, and while Faendal was initially shocked at such an action from the subject of his desire, he soon responded, wrapping his arms around her and deepening the kiss.

Their embrace was initially awkward, as even among Bosmer Faendal was on the shorter side, while Camilla was taller than most Nord men. The two got past their awkwardness quickly however, and their embrace deepened as Camilla raised a leg off the floor and wrapped it around him, drawing his hips closer to hers where she could feel a growing bulge grinding against her.

"Hey that's enough" Lucan complaining went ignored, and he turned away from the sight of his sister dry humping the elf to mope into his flagon. Lucan almost jumped when he felt a hand clap his shoulder and turned to see the dark elf.

Enakam sat down at the bar stool, setting down the plate with what remained of his venison, he turned to the imperial and said "come now, you'll feel better when you're nice and drunk." He tapped his flagan against the man's in a toast, before raising it to his lips and chugging.

* * *

He let out a long sigh at everything that happened. The entire village of Riverwood was in the tavern, everyone bore witness the impromptu dinner theater. There would no doubt be some lasting awkwardness.

Everyone had gone home to sleep off the alcohol in their systems, though in the case of the children, juice. Faendal and Camilla had left together in the direction of the elf's house, leaving Lucan to grumble his way back to the the store.

Enakam pulled the blankets over his body, wondering if the coming days were going to be as happy as this one.

As he drifted off in the tavern bed, it didn't even occur to him in his drunken state that Sven had successfully fooled him. When he first saw the man, he had suspected him of being a spy, and when he went to confront him on it, he gave Enakam this 'quest' to throw him off, leading up to the 'show'.

Even now, Sven was beginning his long trek to Solitude, fully intent on informing the Imperial garrison there about the survival of Ulfric, his generals, and this new player.

* * *

If you can't tell, I really don't like Sven. I don't like Faendal either, but not as much as I hate Sven. On my first playthrough, this is how I did this quest, I honestly didn't know that Faendal would do the same thing if you talked to him, but as far as I'm concerned that was just Bethesda being it's usual asshole self. They gave the quest a grey morality on purpose, just as they did with many others, but I don't think this was in character with Faendal.

Faendal seemed willing to work for what he wanted, as evidenced by him working at a lumber mill for an honest days paycheck, while Sven ran off to the bards college, leaving his elderly mother to fend for herself, and even after he came back he was supposed to work at the lumber mill too, but talk to anyone in town and they will tell you that he is a lazy fop who shirks his duties.

Enakam's armor is a Skyrim mod, or rather a cross between two mods; Spellsword Armor Set by BryanWee20 (though I changed design a bit, I don't see the purpose of wearing just a hauberk as chest protection, and I never really liked the short robes in Skyrim) and SPOA Silver Knight Armor by dopalacz. He will go through many costume changes over the course of this story and I mostly use mods as my inspiration.

If anyone is confused by my using 'mail' instead of 'chainmail', it's because chainmail isn't actually a thing. The proper term for an armor piece made of interwoven steel rings is just 'mail'. Similarly, 'scale-mail' isn't a term either, scale shaped plates of metal riveted to mail is still just mail.


	5. Notice and Challenge, edited

I frequently look at CYOA's for inspiration for my stories, and while I don't get any ideas from most of them, I recently read the ArchRoommate CYOA. If you haven't seen it then I'll just say it is a list of Archdemons and Archangels, their personalities, their kinks, some pros and cons of living with them, and features artwork from around the internet. It has been flagged as NSFW, even though the artwork doesn't feature any nudity (well, not much, and what is there is tasteful).

Anyhow, I'm going to be applying this CYOA to this story at some point. Later on Enakam is going to ascend to a higher plane of existence as a vampire. He will die, stay dead for a year, and then come back as a vampire/daedric lord, with Nirn itself being his realm of Oblivion (though no one else will realize their world is now under new management for a few centuries, at which point... they will train legions of vampire hunters to try and take their world back).

I have made no secret of this, saying as much in authors notes. Which I may have deleted, so if this comes as an unwelcome spoiler, I apologize. If it is any consolation, it won't happen until much, much later, so you will have to wait and see how and when it will happen.

I've been looking around for possible plot-lines I could use for this, and the CYOA fits (though I am going to have to change the term archangel/archdemon with high ranking daedra). Pleas take a look at the CYOA and share your ideas with me on what you would like to see and who you think Enakam's daedric patron should be. It can be anyone from the list, or even any of the daedric lords (except for anyone from the House of Troubles, because Enakam is still a priest of the Reclamations).

I'm issuing a challenge to any readers who want to take a crack at writing a story about this CYOA without changing it to fit a story.

You can do it any way you want, but bonus points for doing it one of the two ways I'm going to highlight below.

If your character has to take the hell rout, it would best to give him a somewhat bloodthirsty edge (not out and out evil, more of a noble demon). When picking from the archdemons to be enslaved to, I picked Aezureah (both because she was the only one who didn't scare me and because I like to cuddle). At the end of the year when I was given the choice to enslave her I took it. After a year with her she knows you well enough to trust you well enough to be her master, that and she sleeps through most of the day anyway. As an estate I'd pick the Hellish Castle (you're in hell after all and you're apparently a high level demon yourself now, why not go all the way?). When given a choice of maids to live with you and your new slave, I chose a few of each kind. For a career, I would choose to fight in the Valhalla Coliseum (I like to fight, and tearing demons apart for the rest of eternity with my Kriegsmesser sounds awesome).

But if your character goes to heaven then you should try to give your character a noble personality, maybe a paragon type character? The first person you meet is Ea, and when you have to pick from the various archangels to room with you end up picking her instead because you've grown to like her cute and shy personality, and I would marry her at the end of the year (because after a year of living with her you can see yourself growing to love her (but you don't have to, it's your story)). For an estate I'd pick the Countryside Castle (same argument as before), and for maids I'd pick a few of each (mostly for companionship). I am a Christian Egalitarian, so I'd be all too glad to serve in the Army of Heaven (again, training with my Kriegsmesser would come in handy here).

Addendum; I took another look at the CYOA, and I think it might actually be better to go with Azriel. Personally it's because I love to fight (I don't like to hurt people, I just like the discipline and physical action of fighting). Also Laurette, she's super cute. Can't say the same for Felira though, as I get the feeling that she'd get so mad sometimes that she'd pound me into past with a mace or that we'd kill each other repeatedly in spars. As for the end of the first year, I think following Michell is the better option (but I can't imagine breaking an angel's heart, so this would only be an option for me if my previews host never suggested it in the first place). Not Lucia though, she seems like a huge bitch.


	6. Notice

These are the mods I'm going to use for this story. This is not going to include any mods that affect gameplay (except the ones that involve certain characters in notable ways). This is not a full list as more may be added later.

I got Skyrim Special Edition a week ago, but unfortunately a good deal of these mods aren't available for Xbox One.

Aurlyn Dawnstone - The Reclusive Philosopher by **mlee3141 and Darkrogue2** I've read a bunch of descriptors of her and seen a bunch of videos and I fell in love with this follower mod. Luckily it is available for SSE, so I hope to capture all of her cryptic beauty in this story. This mod is not available on Xbox, so please if you want to help me out send me videos or something about her dialogue lines and other information about her. There are videos on youtube, but those really only cover the surface.

Sofia - The Funny Fully Voiced Follower by **John Jarvis and Christine Slagman** I watched videos about her idle chatter and her drunken bard songs and I just had to include her. Since seeing this mod I've thought up a pretty compelling backstory with a neat twist that I think you guys will like.

Legend of 1001 Nights by **triptherift - marmotte** This one was a must for me, I grew up on the Arabian Nights tales and I love Shiri's backstory. Since the story takes place over decades, she can be Enakam's first wife or something. I couldn't get this one either.

INIGO by **Smartbluecat** I love this guy. I have this downloaded but disabled, I'll get him on a future playthrough.

Better looking Lydia_Spellsword_CBBE-Edition SE by **Destero** This makes Lydia look better, which is nice I suppose. But making her into a Spellsword is a nice touch. I was planning to redo her character from the ground up anyway. I didn't get this one, but it doesn't matter since I got Divine People All In One which remodels her along with over 300 other NPCs, and I simply made her a spellsword with Amazing Follower Tweaks.

Sita the Khajiit Ranger by **AceRoller** The mod itself isn't especially notable, but I bet I can do something neat with it.

TM Urzul - Orsimer warrior follower by **Aisaka aka TevinterMage** Enekam is going to be the leader of a mercenary band, and Urzul would make for an interesting member.

Lish the Thorned by **DaveEscape** Same as Urzul.

Welfen Sword of the Divines by **Crakinette** His hatred for orcs makes for an interesting plot, seeing as I have established that the mercenary band will have plenty of orcs in it. Enakam will need to break him of his resentment sooner or later, which could be interesting.

Lianel The Undead Slayer by **LordofBacon85** Again, a character mod without any backstory. She has an interesting hook, being a slayer and all, so I imagine I can do some pretty neat things with her.

Mazoga the Orc Follower by **soubhikdonxxx** This mod isn't really detailed at all. But I liked Mazoga in Oblivion, so I'm just going to say that she's her (and the Hero of Kvach's) great-great-grandaughter.

The Three Companions by **KolstonMorbain** This mod introduces three followers, a female dunmer battlemage, a male Redguard warrior and a male argonian rogue rouge.

Khira - A female Dragonblood Khajiit Folower by **Dragul1965** A khajiit with dragon blood might not make sense, but since the story takes place over multiple decades, I can just make her Enakam's daughter or something.

Yzandra and Shaelyn - Standalone Followers by **Sniizy** These two were really interesting, they have no backstory and anyone who has tried to find out has disappeared. I'm going to say that these two are fugitives from... High Rock or Summerset or something. Or maybe they were ex-Thalmor, Shaelyn is a powerdul spellsword so it would kind of fit. Wasn't available for me, but it doesn't matter. They don't have custom voices or custom dialogue or quest lines, so I can just use my imagination for this.

360 Walk and Run Plus AND YY Animations SSE by **justbowlin** I know I said no gameplay mods, but I have already established this as Enakam's fighting style. For whatever reason, this mod is not available for xbox.

Zerofrost Mythical Armors and Dragon by **Zerofrost Satyr** I really like Zerofrost's armor mods. The Valkyrie armor can be Sophia or Aurlyn's outfit or something like that.

DCR - King Crusader Mega Pack by **Angilla** This set rivals even Zerofrost's creations. I have yet to think of a use for this in my story, but I'm sure I will. I didn't like the armor set so much since it clipped horrendously with my hair, but I loved the sword.

Dragon Carved Armor Set by **hideto84** I see this as a gift from a hold's Jarl when he becomes thane.

Wolf Themed Retexture of Faraam Comfy Knight Armor by **blackasm** This would be a good replace for the sub-par Companion armor.

Gothic Plate Armor by **Toasty Fresh** I can't think of a place for it right now, but I love the aesthetics.

Dragon Knight Armor by **Hothtrooper4** A level 100 smith is supposed to be the best of the best, but the vanilla dragon armor just looks like some random bones cut into a vague shape and tied together.

Noldor Content Pack by **Maty743** I'm going to be expanding on the snow elves quite a bit in this story, and the vanilla armor is crap. Note that the colors of the armor won't cross over into the story. The designs and colors will have to match Auriel's Bow and Shield.

Raven Castle by **Cirena** I absolutely loved this mod. It was a joy to explore the castle and the grounds, and it was so enormous that I couldn't explore all of it in one day. It reminded me of playing Castlevania actually.

Cannabis Skyrim by **MadNuttah and Virakotxa** Drugs exist in the TES universe, whose to say that pot doesn't? Plus it's funny to read about the all powerful dovahkiin getting high. This one was available for xbox (shocker) , but I didn't download it because it was like 400 MB and I only have 5 GBs of free space for mods.

Darkend by **JKrojmal** I love Demon's/Dark Souls. I'll think of a way to make it fit.

Snow Elf Main Menu Replacer by **Ilymilarae** I only point this out because the male in the picture was what inspired Enakam's appearance. The elf in the picture has white skin, not black, but upon becoming a vampire his skin will turn white like this, so...

Inferno- Advents of Flame by **gorelus89** Same as Darkend.

Inferno- Envoys of End by **gorelus89** Same as Darkend.

Inferno- The Blood Marked by **gorelus89** This one was available for me, strangely enough, considering that it is the sequel to the preveous two, but I didn't down;oad it because I'm hoping for the first two to become available at some point.

Please comment with your thoughts and suggestions.


	7. Notice 2

This is a notice that I'm not going to be able to write for a while. We keep getting hacked, so we're going to drop our current internet provider and I don't know how long it will be until we get a new one.

Sorry about this.


	8. Hiatus Notice

My stories are on hiatus until my computer is fixed. Whever is hacking me is doing such a good jub that I can't do anything nymore. I'm typping this from a mobile device, I can't write on it but I can still leave reviews and respond to PMs.


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